


No Better Tomorrow

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Druids, F/M, Fix-It, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Lydia-centric, M/M, Season/Series 06A, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Lydia Martin wakes up to find her perfect life -- she's going to be valedictorian, Jackson is her perfect boyfriend, she's still the Queen of Beacon Hills High School -- threatened by mysterious visions of another world.   Why does this world where she has everything she ever wanted seem so fake?  Why can't she shake the feeling that there's something missing?  And why does she feel that her fellow senior, asthmatic bench-riding loser Scott McCall, might hold the key to figure out what has gone so terribly wrong?This is an alternate version of Season 6A focusing on Lydia (and to a lesser extent Scott) that tries to answer a question I think that the production avoided: why would the Ghost Riders take Stiles of all the pack?  What does he mean to the pack?  And what would they sacrifice to get him back?
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 113
Kudos: 128





	1. Reality Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really hard to tag. I've included the relationship tag for Stiles and Lydia and Stiles name, but while he's key to all the action going on, he's been taken by the Wild Hunt.

Lydia Martin carefully studied her reflection in her vanity mirror. As a test, she tossed her head to the left and watched her hair as it slid into place. Satisfied, she tossed her heard to the right and watched again. Every strand reacted as exactly as it was supposed to. She was fine. Everything was fine.

“Lydia! Are you almost ready?” Natalie Martin called from below, most likely standing at the base of the staircase. “You have five minutes to get down here and into the car, or we’re going to be late. You know I can’t afford to be late today. It wouldn’t look good.”

“I always look good,” Lydia called back. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

As if to prove that point to herself, she re-examined her makeup. Her mother had always taught her it was better not to wear any make-up at all than to wear it badly. Too little makeup meant you were insecure in your looks. Too much makeup meant you were a tramp or wanted to be a tramp. Makeup applied sloppily meant you were incompetent. Lydia Martin could never be any of those things, so she took her time, no matter how anxious her mother was to go. 

If she felt unsettled and oddly strange, it had to be nothing. Perhaps first-day-of-the-semester jitters, though she had never had them before. She repeated her mantra to herself in the mirror. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Satisfied, she straightened the vanity and put her things away. Her mother’s threat was meant to get her to hurry up, so she estimated that her mother wasn’t going to absolutely be ready to leave for at least ten minutes. She had plenty of time. Her classes this semester were all electives anyway; she could have graduated last year if she had wanted to. This left the agenda for her final semester simple: she was going to concentrate on planning the Senior Prom and slapping Anna-Catherine Marquand down a few pegs. The sophomore had been trying to position herself as Lydia’s successor as queen of Beacon Hills High before Lydia had even graduated. 

The sophomore’s behavior was entirely in poor taste. Not only was Anna-Catherine the very picture of a desperate, bra-stuffing, would-be diva, Marquand thought she could push herself over the top by attacking Lydia’s credibility. Some goody two-shoes might have urged Lydia to exercise restraint and mercy, but no one stayed on top for as long as she had by playing nice. Lydia would send a firm message to anyone who thought they could usurp her rightful place in the school’s pecking order before she had well and truly vacated it. They could fight over her throne after she had left.

Getting to her feet, Lydia glanced one last time into the mirror. It was a mistake. For the briefest of moments, it had not been her face looking back at her. 

“No,” she whispered. “Not today.”

Her reflection had changed for the briefest of moments, showing a different Lydia Martin. This other her had been dressed just as nicely as she was now, but the mirror Lydia’s attitude was very different. She was confident but casual, attractive but not dominating. Her make-up had been on point but nowhere near as aggressively perfect as Lydia usually wore it. Her hair had hung straight and loosely around her shoulders, a good look on her, but Lydia noted it was a far less effort-intensive style.

She could have dismissed it as a trick of the mind, but in her gut Lydia knew that the reflection _was_ her. The real her. She felt the truth of this, only for it to be immediately overwhelmed by the fear creeping up her spine. She clutched at her jacket, attempting to banish the feeling and replace it with steel indifference. This wasn’t the first time in the last few weeks she had had strange visions like this. She had no idea what it was about, but she wasn’t going to let them distract her. High school was almost over; she could have a breakdown afterward.

Natalie walked with Lydia out to the car, but she kept watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Lydia offered up her most confident smile. “Why would you even ask that question?”

“No reason.” Natalie put her own mask up and started up the car. 

Lydia felt her pasted-on smile wilt a little. Of course her mother would never bring up what happened last year. They had both agreed it would be better for everyone if they just moved on. The strange imaginary things she had started to hear last year soon after her eighteenth birthday were part of the past. She had taken the anti-depressants which the doctors had prescribed; she had been as open and as honest as anyone could be with her therapist. If the whispering voices only appeared once in a while. If she heard anything that she couldn’t explain, she had just ignored it. 

Her mother had been so panicked last year, given what had happened to Grandma, that there was no way she was going to disturb her mother any more by telling her about what she had seen in the mirror or the other things. She was fine. It was _all_ fine. 

Instead, they talked in the car about unimportant things on the way to school. She could tell her mother was worried about taking over as principal this year, but that was foolish. Her mother’s transformation from housewife to educator was something of which she should be proud. Not that being a housewife was something shameful, but Natalie had had to get a job after the divorce. She had started off as a substitute teacher, then a teacher, then a guidance counselor, and now she was the leader of the school. 

They also talked about college and about how much Lydia was looking forward to getting out of Beacon Hills. She had had her pick of higher education, and she had finally had settled on MIT. No one in her peer group knew that, nor would until the day she was announced as valedictorian. One day soon she was going to have to tell Jackson, but she was putting that off for now. It didn’t take a genius to imagine that he wouldn’t take it well. 

They pulled into the school’s parking lot. The cars there looked the same as last semester; the students hurrying to class looked the same as last semester. “Nothing ever happens in this town,” Lydia remarked dully before giving her mother a light peck on the cheek as farewell. She might have had a little time before home room, but her mother needed to get to the front office. 

Jackson was waiting by his Porsche, affecting nonchalance. Yet, he had that strange expression on his face he’d been wearing for the last few weeks, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here, but it quickly vanished once he became aware of Lydia’s presence. “Morning, doll.”

“Mmmmmmm. Morning.” They exchanged a brief kiss, one out of habit rather than anything else.

She and Jackson had settled into a comfortable routine with each other as their high school years had passed, coming to trust each other implicitly even as their passion had cooled. They still had sex from time to time, they still went on dates, but neither of them were exclusive and they certainly no longer possessed any delusion that their love was forever. They had been too young when they started, and they had started going out for the wrong reasons. It was not going to be the great love of their lives, but Lydia was confident that they at least would be friends for decades, unless Jackson got a bee in his bonnet about her going to a better school than he was. Still, they continued to enjoy the prestige of being the Power Couple on campus, and they wouldn’t be giving that up until the day after graduation. 

They held hands because they were cute like that and headed into the school. Lydia thought that maybe she’d allow Jackson to choose what type of tuxedo he would get to wear to Senior Prom, in order to give herself a challenge when it came to picking out what she would be wearing. She started to mention this to him when she felt something sharp dig into her palm. She looked down and he had claws at the ends of fingers; they were digging into her skin. She was about to freak out when a second glance revealed that they were gone as if they had never been.

 _I’m fine,_ Lydia told herself. _Everything’s fine._

The masses parted for them in the hallway, as they should. When they reached her locker, her minions flocked to her, waiting for her arrival. If Lydia and Jackson were royalty, these were the rest of her court. 

Susan Belvedere had been her ‘friend’ since the third grade. The blond constantly tossed her head, as she wanted to show off the shaggy pixie cut with side bangs she had gotten over the winter recess. It was a good look on her, even though coupled with her mini-dress — something that was just a just a hair sort of being revealing enough to get her sent home — it indicated she was still planning to complete her quest of banging all of the relatively good-looking senior males. Jackson had snidely informed Lydia that Susan was not very good at it though, making up in quantity what she lacked in quality. 

Rebecca “Harley” Harlowe had not been in her friend for very long. In fact, she had been a nobody until the beginning of junior year, when because of a feud with another girl, the student body had discovered she had the sharpest tongue in the school, even when compared to Lydia. It was either make friends with her, Lydia had decided, or spend the rest of high school preparing to duel. It was simply easier to welcome her to her circle of friends. 

Tracy Stewart rounded out the quartet. She tended to be quiet and timid, even though Lydia recognized that Tracy could catch every eye in the school if she wanted to. She wasn’t stupid, and she was actually kind, and she could always be relied upon to agree. With anything. It was like she was always afraid of something, but she never said what it was. 

“I hope all of you are ready for this semester.” Lydia proclaimed to the assembled Martinets. The boy who had made that up had transferred schools out of necessity, but the name had stuck. 

“Ready for anything in particular?” Tracy was also good at being the feeder for when Lydia wanted to make a point.

“Preparation for the Prom starts now. The six of us girls are going to make this year the absolute best in living memory.”

“Six?” Harley raised one eyebrow. “Are you inviting some other people to join up?”

Lydia hesitated, glancing around her. She did only have three friends close enough for this project. She didn’t know why she thought there should be two more. “Perhaps, I will.” She brushed it off. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Don’t I know it,” moaned Susan. “It’s going to take me months to figure out who I want to ask me to go.”

Harley snickered. “Yeah. It’s pretty sad you have to pick just one.”

Susan sniffed, but she really didn’t mind the joke. She had no hang-ups about her serial dating. “Jackson will be bringing Lydia, of course. Who do you want to take you?”

“I was thinking Nathan,” Harley shrugged. “He’s cute, but too dumb to cause me trouble.”

Jackson chuckled from where he stood listening, even though he was pretending to text on his phone. 

Lydia nodded her approval. “That’s a good decision. Susan, you should set your sights on someone difficult. Prom night is the night to get lucky.”

“I know.” Susan looked down the hallway as if it were a menu. “Maybe I’ll ask Lahey.”

Lydia followed her friend’s gaze down the hallway. Leaning up against a locker, Isaac Lahey glowered at anyone who came too close. He was all curly blond hair and cheek bones, but he wore a leather jacket as if he was the bad boy in a cheap 50s comedy. He caught her eye and smirked at her. She blinked. Was there something wrong with his teeth?

“That delinquent?” Lydia started to laugh, but the urge to mock Isaac died on her lips. She refocused on the quip. “Your parents have already bought you a new BMW; you don’t need his help to boost a new one.”

They all broke into laughter at that time, but then Lydia caught Lahey still staring at her. He was too far away to have heard her say that, but the way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable. 

Harley rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that. Lahey only has eyes for his punching bag.”

Tracy finally joined the conversation. “So you’ve noticed that, too? I thought you were friends with him. Or at least you had been.”

Lydia looked away and frowned. She knew who they were talking about, but something about the way they were speaking about him made her … angry. 

“Freshman year. I also liked Justin Bieber back then.” Harley joked. “Some people are just destined to be left behind. Is McCall still riding the bench?”

“Riding it so hard, he should have permanent splinters by now.” Jackson mimicked Danny Zuko’s shoulder roll. “If you do decide to go with Rebel Without a Clue, maybe Tracy could take Scott.” 

Tracy smiled until she realized she was being teased. “No!”

Lydia remained silent. Something was wrong about this, but she couldn’t place exactly why it was wrong. Everyone knew that McCall was an asthmatic loser who remained stupidly stubborn enough not to quit the team without one tiny hope of playing. Why did it bother her when her friends made fun of him?

“We can settle that later,” she interrupted them. “We’ll meet after school. Bring ideas for a theme.”

**~*~**

“After three-and-a-half years of trying to eat this food, I don’t know why I simply don’t pack a lunch.” Lydia frowned at the tater tot on the end of her fork.

“Are you going to bring it in a Strawberry Shortcake lunch box?” Harley quipped. 

“So uncool.” Susan observed, but she wasn’t eager to eat the food either. 

“I think you should know by now that we get to determine what is cool or uncool. But I was thinking something a little more stylish.”

“My father has this lunch service he takes to work,” Tracy suggested. “He’s got a problem with his stomach, so he can’t really do fast food that often. It looks very adult.” 

“That might be a good idea.” Lydia hummed. “We could use a little more class in this place.”

Tracy’s grateful smile across her face. Lydia found herself touched by it.

They had been among the first to get into the cafeteria, though no one would be stupid enough to try to sit at their usual table. Jackson was showing Brian a video on his phone. Lydia’s gaze wandered over to where a bunch of sophomore boys were talking excitedly while in the serving line. They were a mix of lacrosse players and some other boys, but the one in their center caught her eye.

“Jackson.” She said his name in the way he understood so well; it meant that she needed him.

“What’s up?”

“Get Liam to sit with us.”

“Liam Dunbar? Okay.” Jackson shrugged. “Dunbar! Over here!”

It was well known by the entire lacrosse team and by most of the population of the school that the only person on the team more talented than Jackson Whittemore had been Liam Dunbar. He had been astounding on the field during his freshman season, until he was given a red card in an exhibition game against Devenford Prep. Lydia had been there; she remembered that the other team had kept provoking Liam until he cracked their top player, Brett Talbot, right in the face with his crosse. 

She was pretty sure it had been that same Talbot who had leaked it to the school afterward that Liam was on anti-psychotic medication. Liam had only managed to stay on the team and not get expelled if he agreed to take his medication regularly. As a consequence, he wasn’t nearly as good as he could have been, and he had been relegated to the bench. 

The sophomore turned to stare at the team captain. He looked confused at the attention.

“Sit with us.”

Being asked to sit at this table wasn’t that big a deal for most seniors; their career by this point was done. For a sophomore, this was a big deal. Liam grabbed his friend Mason by the arm to pull along with him.

“Just you!” Jackson let the disapproval appear in his voice. 

For a moment, Liam looked like he was going to refuse, but Mason pushed him towards the table after a short but fierce whispered argument.

Finally, Liam walked over. “Uh. Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me. It was Lydia’s idea.”

Liam turned his blue eyes to Lydia in wonder. “Okay.”

“So, tell me about your friends,” Lydia began. It was an instinctual ice breaker. It didn’t mean anything.

“My … friends.”

She waved at the table. “Mason and those other people.”

“You know Mason?” 

Harley winked at the younger boy. “I thought he was cute, but he doesn’t play for your team. Or my team, for that matter.”

“Yeah. That’s Mason.” Liam still seemed a little lost. “That’s Nolan and Corey. They’re on the team, too.”

“That’s a stretch,” smirked Jackson. “They practice with us.”

“Corey’s getting better!” Liam defended his friend. “We’ll be ready for when you graduate.”

“I keep remembering why I like you.” Jackson laughed. “You’re feisty.”

“Yes, he is,” Lydia nodded. 

Everyone at the table turned to look at her. As far as anyone there had known, including herself, this was the first conversation she had ever had with the sophomore. 

“Or so you’ve told me, Jackson,” she covered, lamely.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Liam said, still confused. 

“It’s a compliment,” Lydia went on. “It means you’re passionate and determined.” 

“Oh.” 

Jackson nodded. “Also, you’re short.”

“I’m not that short!”

“Sit down and eat your food and maybe you’ll get taller.”

Liam did as he was told, though he glanced over at the table where his friends were sitting.

“They can do without you for one day,” Lydia soothed. “Susan? You were saying something earlier about Mr. Clausen?”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Who did he grope this time?”

“You know, I didn’t think anyone would make me miss poor dead Mr. Harris,” Harley said over her soda. “But Mr. Clausen has managed to do it.”

Susan launched into her tale of how Clausen had talked the class through the setup of a chemistry lab while constantly trying to look down the shirts of every single cheerleader in attendance. She did such a remarkable imitation of the teacher’s attempt to look innocent while being lecherous that the entire table burst into laughter.

Lydia joined in with a simple chuckle, but her attention was fixed on Liam. He seemed to be taking his mysterious invitation as well as one could be expected. He didn’t seem dumb, but he did seem tired and a little inattentive. However, many anti-psychotics had that side effect. The stories around the school was that he was nice, but he was prone to impulsiveness. 

She was studying him when he turned to her and his face changed. She stared at him, his mouth full of fangs, his eyes glowing yellow, and his ears pointed. He was a monster.

 _No,_ she told herself, not a monster. A werewolf.

To her disbelief, she wasn’t scared of his fangs or his transformation. She was more scared that she wasn’t scared of either of them. These visions had been happening more and more often, and she was failing to keep them down. She suspected that part of her wanted to experience them, and part of her wanted them to fucking stop. She felt she was being torn apart. 

She stood up, abruptly, pushing her chair back so sharply it make a screeching sound. Every eye in the room turned to her. 

“I’m sorry,” she explained, holding down the panic rising in her gut through sheer willpower. “I forgot something. I’ll see you guys in class.” 

Lydia kept it together until she was out of sight and hearing of the lunch room. Her plan had been to walk quickly to a restroom that would be nearly empty this time of day. She needed to be alone to figure this out, and with no one asking intrusive questions. She intended to put one foot down in front of the other until she got there.

She made it about ten yards before she broke into a run. She wiped at her eyes, when it became too hard to see where she was going. She was going to be such a mess. She passed some people in the hall but she didn’t as much as look at them. Luckily there was no one in the bathroom. She made it into a stall and then collapsed. 

The tears flowed freely now, and she couldn’t stop them. She reached into her purse to get a tissue and her makeup. She’d have to reapply her mascara.

There was a knock on the outer door of the restroom. She ignored it.

The knocker was insistent. “Lydia?” It was a boy’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She snarled. 

“You don’t sound fine.” The boy’s voice was soft. “You looked like you were having a bad time. May I come in?”

“This is the girl’s room!”

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Lydia shouldn’t say yes, but for some reason, she believe she would feel better if she did. “Come in.”

As the boy entered the restroom, she opened the stall door. Scott McCall offered her a small smile.

“I could have been going to the bathroom, you know.”

He shrugged, trying to seem innocent. “If you’d needed to go to the bathroom, you would have used the restroom next to the cafeteria.”

“You followed me all the way here? I must look a mess.”

Scott squatted in front of her. “I’m not here because I want to date you. Do you want to talk? It’s okay if you don’t. I mean, you don’t know me at all.”

“That’s the problem.” Lydia blurted out. “I do know you.”

He looked confused, but he didn’t get up and didn’t deny what she said. “Okay.”

“I know I can trust you. I know you want to help me. I know that if I tell you what’s happening, you won’t think I’m crazy.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I don’t know how I know, but I do.”

Scott stood up when she did. “I won’t think you’re crazy.”

She sucked in and bit her lower lip, trying to balance this strange feeling she had for Scott and the fact that she was about to tell him something she hadn’t even told her mother. “I’m seeing things. I usually just hear things, but I’m seeing things now.”

“Okay.”

“I know they’re not real, but I think they should be. If you can understand that.” 

The boy nodded slowly. “What type of things are you seeing?”

“I saw Jackson with claws. I saw Liam with glowing eyes and fangs. He looked like a …” She hesitated.

“Go on.”

“He looked like a werewolf.” 

Scott licked his lips nervously. “Anything else?” 

“I’ve seen myself looking different that I look now. I think your boyfriend is different as well. It’s like … it’s like …”

She glanced over at the mirror in the bathroom. The image she saw in it was exactly what she had expected. It simply seemed familiar, though she may have shared five words in her life with Scott McCall.

“It’s like there’s another world that’s trying to break through.”

The boy thought for a moment. “Do you know where Beacon Hills Animal Clinic is? The one downtown?”

Lydia nodded, even though she had never been there. 

“I work there after school. Come by tonight, I think maybe we can help you.”

**~*~**

Lydia shut the door on her car, taking in the view of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. From the front, it looked like a normal veterinarian’s office. She believed she had once taken Prada here for his shots. Yet, she hesitated to go in. Something told her the place held far more importance than a hospital for pets.

The moment she had agreed to meet Scott at his place of business, the visions or hallucinations or the brief flashes of things not of this world had stopped. She had managed to get through the rest of the day. She had even met with the Martinets after school on the bleachers and watched lacrosse practice while they floated a few themes for the prom. She had kept one eye on the field, on Jackson, Scott and Liam. 

Yet, nothing had happened. 

She had run home, had dinner, and had told her mother she had an errand to run. She had changed into something more casual. She didn’t know what to wear for a possible supernatural intervention. Still, it had been a relief when no half-remembered face peeked out of her mirror.

Whatever was causing this was pleased that she had come here. That alone made her hesitate. On the other hand, if coming here could stop this nonsense so she could get on with her life, she would do what she had to do.

A bell rang as she entered the front door. The veterinarian looked up from his paperwork as she entered, and Scott came out from the back room.

“Hello, Miss Martin.” The older man smiled kindly. “My name is Alan Deaton. Scott told me that you might be having some problems with which I can help.”

“At this point I would usually make some sort of joke about walking on two legs rather than four, but I’m pretty desperate.”

“Well, let’s see what I can do for you. Why don’t you come into the back? Scott, would you set the sign to closed please?”

Dr. Deaton opened the gate for her and led her into the back room. Lydia assumed they went there for more privacy, but instead it turned out to be in front of a bigger audience.

Isaac Lahey was leaning up against the back wall, his face was pulled down into a frown. He was flanked to his left by Erica Reyes and on his right by Vernon Boyd. Erica Reyes had transferred to Devenford Prep after her sophomore year, while Boyd was in the top ten percent of their class at BHHS. He was in the chess club and led the debate team. Rumors had it that something bad had gone down with the two of them during sophomore year, but she hadn’t heard anything since them. 

Closer to her and leaning on a metal examination table, a man not as old Deaton but not a high schooler scowled at nothing in particular. She couldn’t help but get the feeling that she should be able to recognize him, but she had never met him before. He was good looking with dark hair and a great body, but her eyes were drawn to the sleeve of his leather jacket was rolled up and pinned. He had lost his left arm from slightly above the elbow somehow. 

“What are they doing here?”

“They may be able to help you, Miss Martin,” the veterinarian assured her. 

“I don’t like the look of them.” 

“That’s a lie,” the one-armed man in the leather jacket said. “You’re not scared … of us. Tell us what’s wrong.”

“Derek,” Scott said, coming into the back room. “She’s not going to let us help if you frighten her more.”

“Scott’s right,” Deaton agreed. “I will ask you to leave if you aren’t going to be helpful.”

Derek subsided, gesturing impatiently. Derek Hale. That was his name.

“Now, would you like to tell us how these things started?”

Lydia bit her lip. Scott came up and put his hand on her elbow. 

“They may look intimidating, but everyone here wants to help you.”

Lydia straightened back and began to tell them of the feelings and visions she had. How she had seen people, like Jackson and Liam, become monsters such as she knew to be werewolves, when she didn’t even realize that werewolves weren’t fairy tales. She told of the visions of herself as different, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that these visions were just as real as the world she walked through every day.

No one laughed. No one even smirked. Even the trio listened carefully and attentively.

Deaton rested one elbow in his hand and gripped his chin, staring off at nothing.

“Is anyone going to say anything? I know I’m not crazy.”

“You aren’t.” Scott turned to Derek. “We should show her.”

Derek frowned. 

“Show me what?” 

“It’s safer,” Scott protested to the others. “I know you want to keep a secret, but she could start talking to others.”

Derek thought about it and then nodded at Scott. Derek then turned to Isaac and indicated something with his eyebrows.

“I did hear you. That wasn’t very nice. I’m not a delinquent.” Isaac’s sarcastically quipped. “I’ve had a rough life.”

Erica rolled her eyes. Isaac’s face changed into the same thing Lydia saw with Liam: glowing eyes and fangs. His hands ended in claws like she saw with Jackson.

“You’re a werewolf.” It hits her then, like a wave. She’s so dizzy she almost falls over. “You’re all werewolves.”

“No,” Scott reassures her and takes her hand. “Dr. Deaton and I aren’t, but we kinda help them.” 

“That’s not right.” The image of Scott with glowing red eyes, fully transformed, roaring for someone in a perfectly white room strikes her. “It’s not. You should be one of them.”

Other images crowded around her. Isaac lying electrocuted in a hospital bed. Derek bleeding out on the ground outside a Mexican church. Erica’s rotting corpse. Boyd impaled by alphas. A twin dying with her name on his lips. Her own face crying for a girl named Allison. Her own voice shouting Mason’s name in front of a monstrous shadow beast. The sound of metal plates being electrified, like an anvil being hit by a hammer. 

Everyone in the room must have seen her start shaking because they were looking at her with various levels of concern. Scott supported her weight as it felt like the visions would take her feet out from under her.

Above all, she heard the sound of hooves pounding on the ground, she saw a glimpse of riders appearing on the wings of a storm. And death. So much death. 

Lydia opened her mouth and screamed.


	2. Though Experiment

Lydia opened her eyes to find herself lying on a couch in an office, smaller than the clinic’s examination room and less brightly lit. She must have passed out in front of everyone. She gritted her teeth; she didn’t need the humiliation.

“I am glad you’re awake.” Dr. Deaton smiled down at her. 

“Where am I?”

“This is my private office. We moved you in here after you were overwhelmed, and I want to apologize for that. I didn’t believe that what we were revealing to you would cause such a strong reaction.”

Lydia tried to sit up but in her disorientation she struggled. Deaton carefully took her by the arms and helped her into a sitting position.

“Do you know why that happened?”

The veterinarian nodded. “I do.” 

He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to continue, and his reticence irritated her. “Well, are you going to tell me or not?”

“That depends on you.” Deaton stood up and took a few steps back choosing to sit down in an office chair and in so doing, moving out of her personal space and giving her the space to feel secure. “I believe it’s only fair that I should warn you first. Knowledge of supernatural phenomena often brings mixed blessings. You may feel more stable once you understand what is happening, but you may also find that awareness brings with it both responsibility and consequences.”

“I’m not going to like what you have to say, will I?”

“I cannot possibly predict your reaction.”

Lydia glanced sharply at him, but Deaton seemed to be completely sincere in his sentiments. She folded her hands in her lap, folded them around each other, to hide the nervous flexing of her fingers. 

She had once read about exposure therapy. Psychologists would attempt to lessen the impact of some anxieties by getting the patient to experience their triggers in a controlled environment. This conversation must be what that felt like. 

“If I don’t learn about what you can tell me, and if the truth is what you suspect it is, will I eventually stop hearing and seeing things?”

Deaton shook his head. “No. It is part of you as much as taking air into your lungs.” 

“Then I need to know everything, and I want to know it right now. As far as I can tell, hiding from the truth has made me a victim. I am not interested in that role in any way, shape, or form.”

“I think that’s a very positive attitude to have. Now, one last disclaimer. I want to able to tell you that I am absolutely sure about what I am going to say to you, but I can’t.” The veterinarian began in a solemn voice. “It may sound like I’m quibbling, but I find any attempt to appear to know more than I do to be reprehensible, especially when providing guidance to others. Do you understand?”

“I do.” 

“I will start with my qualifications. I received my terminal degree in veterinary medicine from Cornell University in New York. I am a licensed veterinarian in both New York and California. I pursued no particular specialty. I received my training as a Druidic novice outside Old Forge, New York, in and around Adirondack Park.”

“You’re a Druid?”

“I am. I was also the Emissary to Talia Hale, Derek’s mother, when she was the Alpha of the Hale Pack. While I offer similar advice to her son, Derek Hale, I am not his Emissary nor do I intend to be. Instead, I am training someone else to become his Emissary.”

“Scott,” she guessed. “You’re training Scott to be … his Emissary.”

“Correct.”

She clutched at her head. “I know how important that position is, but I don’t know how I know this.”

“I will be getting to that. I simply wanted you to understand not only why I can help you but also the perspective from which I will approach helping you.”

“Then tell me more about Druids, and what that might mean to me.”

“Druids, as I’m sure you know, come from the Celtic regions of Europe, though obviously they are not limited to a geographical area or any particular race or ethnicity. Druidism is a philosophy and practice that closely examines nature and strives to learn what we can from it. Nature offers us insight into the balance of our own lives, and, in return, our actions help keep it in balance.”

“I read that Druidic teachings were completely an oral tradition and that they had been lost.”

“Not lost, concealed. A Druid, at a certain point in their lives, will select a novice or novices to which they hand down the lore, discoveries, and observations of a thousand years of our culture, which they learned from a Druid when they were a novice.” 

“Why would anyone choose to hide what you’ve learned?”

“As I implied before, history shows that knowledge is a two-edged sword. When scientists learned the nature of nuclear forces, one of the first applications to which they put that knowledge was the Hiroshima bomb. Knowledge can be used to assist others, but it can also be used to destroy. It can be used to explain, but it can also be used to control. We are governed by a code of ethics that limit what we can do with the knowledge we possess.”

Lydia pursed her lips. It’s not like she hadn’t been aware of the destructive power of unbridled science. It’s honestly why she preferred pure mathematics. “Why accept limitations created by people long dead?”

“No one exists in a vacuum. The knowledge I learned from the Druid who taught me represents not only her lifetime but the lifetimes of every Druid before her. The majority of my predecessors have come to the same conclusion: the balance we find within nature must be kept for the good of everyone. This requires that we be very careful in how we intervene.”

“So you’ll tell me only enough of what you know about me to keep this metaphysical balance.”

“I would prefer to think of it as I will tell you all I should in order to keep you in balance.” 

“So, am I a supernatural creature like the werewolves?”

“You are not like a werewolf. Some might disagree because in a way you are different than most of humanity, but from my point of view, it’s a needless distinction. The term ‘supernatural’ is ultimately unnecessary. After all, you have different abilities than most of your fellow students at Beacon Hills High School. These abilities don’t make you less natural then they are or automatically above them.”

Lydia felt frustration boiling up even as she followed his lengthy argument. He was being logical and thorough while she emotionally wanted answers immediately. “I think you’ve laid the groundwork well enough. Is there a name for what I am?”

“Yes.” Deaton raised his eyebrows at the tension in her voice, though he didn’t look at all apologetic. “Infrequently, members of your bloodline can manifest an ability to perceive things on a level that few others can. Most of the time this sensory input is auditory.”

“But I’ve been seeing things.” 

“Correct, and I have a theory about that I will save for another day. Are you familiar with string theory?”

“Yes. It’s a hypothesis in theoretical physics which proposes that the building blocks of the universe should be thought of in terms of infinite strings, and that natural phenomenon arise because these strings vibrate at different frequencies.”

“That’s very good,” Deaton seemed impressed. “It might help you to recall that sound is also a vibration.”

“Are you saying that I am capable of picking up sub-atomic vibrations and translating them into information as normal … as _other_ people are capable of doing with sound waves?” Lydia interjected. “Maybe I’d rather be insane.”

“I’m saying that this is one prevailing theory on how banshees are able to predict future events.”

“A banshee.” She sucked in her breath. This, too, seemed right.

“The Wailing Woman. Folklore identifies her as a faerie, but in reality the ability is a trait passed down through individuals who identify as female at birth.” 

Lydia thought back to her childhood. “So you are saying my paternal grandmother could have been one as well?”

“It’s possible.”

Lorraine Martin had been driven to madness by things she heard and couldn’t understand. She had died, broken and pathetic, in Eichen House, a mental health facility that Lydia had subconsciously avoided ever since. The knowledge that she might not have been ill but experiencing something that few doctors would recognize made Lydia feel like someone had stuck a knife in her heart.

“Banshees are often depicted as madwomen.”

“They have been. In traditionally patriarchal cultures, the power to know what others cannot know would often be seen as a threat to the status quo and thus be unwelcome. Sometimes, even as a banshee’s predictions were accorded great respect, they were shunned and ostracized.”

Lydia felt anger for those women, for her grandmother, for herself. “That’s not going to happen to me.”

“I hope that’s true.” Deaton nodded. “Lydia, I’d like to ask you if anything strange happened recently that might cause you to have become more sensitive.” 

She thought back. “I can’t remember anything specific. The first … series of incidents happened after my eighteenth birthday, after I spread my grandmother’s ashes out on the lake. I endured some prodding psychologists and took the antidepressants they described, and the both the incidents and the doctors went away.”

“Most likely you unconsciously learned how to suppress minor manifestations of your talent, or perhaps there was nothing to trigger it. I cannot be sure.”

“What does trigger these visions?”

“The stories have that banshee’s wail when someone is about to die. Death is a significant change in the universe.”

“Things die all the time.”

Deaton nodded in agreement. “That’s true, but the death of a human being removes a deliberate actor. Unlike a physical object which only exists or an animal that acts within the confines of their instincts, a living, intelligent being can influence events beyond their immediate existence. Death ends the entire range of possibilities, and the universe reacts to that end.”

“But I don’t hear every death.”

“In a way, you probably are capable of doing so, but it would strain your mind to its destruction to be constantly bombarded with the approach of every death. I theorize that a banshee learns to subconsciously filter out the vast majority of deaths. I also theorize that if a banshee doesn’t learn how to do this …”

“It could psychologically damage her.” Lydia frowned. 

“Traditionally, banshees are connected to a family, which make senses as extended family units are an important aspect of Celtic culture. I theorize that it might have something to do with your emotional connection to the individuals in question.”

“I don’t have any emotional connection to Isaac Lahey or Scott McCall or Liam Dunbar.” Lydia protested and then raised her hand to interrupt Deaton when he tried to suggest an alternative. “Wait. Now that you mention it, there was always an emotional component to my visions. The only reason I came here tonight was because I felt I could trust Scott when I had no reason to feel that way.”

Deaton listened to her and thought for a moment. “Then perhaps the event that triggered this recent series of visions concerns an emotional connection of which you are not consciously aware. You’ve described it as a feeling that this world is not real.”

“Yes. That’s what it felt like.”

“Perhaps it’s an emotional connection, most likely to a person, who no longer exists.”

“I don’t remember losing anyone.”

“That would not necessarily be an obstacle.”

“So the answer to my problem may be that I’m missing someone but I can’t remember who. Wonderful. Do you have any idea how I could remember them?”

“I know of techniques, but I would like to take a few days to explore how useful they could be.” Deaton stood up. “In the meantime, it might also be useful, if you wouldn’t mind, if I had Scott keep an eye on you. He would be much less likely to draw unwanted attention than my presence would. I also have a text that you might be willing to read about banshees. The only drawback is it is in Medieval Latin.”

Lydia stuck out her hand. “I happen to be able to read Medieval Latin. I also suppose my reputation can survive a few days of being in Scott McCall’s company.”

**~*~**

Lydia followed Scott home from work. He lived in a two-story building in a pretty nice neighborhood though it wasn’t as wealthy as hers. Dismounting his bike, he motioned for her to park next to the car in the driveway. He waited for her to get out, and they walked up to the house together. He opened the door like a gentleman.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to bring me to your home.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to give you the chance to meet people away from the clinic. It’s normal for us to gather there, but I’m sure it’s got to be a little strange for you. I also thought you might have want a chance to regroup before they get here, as I’m sure Doc talked your ear off.”

“I didn’t mind.” She glanced around the house. “Do you really think it’s important that I talk with the others?” 

Scott nodded. “Things can get a little dangerous in Beacon Hills. It’s better to have people who will look out after you.” 

Before Lydia could reply, a woman’s voice called out from deeper inside the house. “Scott?”

“Yeah, Mom!”

“I have to go in to work, but there is actually dinner in the fridge tonight.” Melissa McCall came around the corner and stopped in her tracks when she saw a girl there. “Hello.”

“Mom, this is Lydia Martin.”

“Hello, Mrs. McCall.”

“Scott, if you are planning to bring a friend home for dinner, you should call first, so I could make enough.”

Scott stammered around the truth for a second. “I’m sorry. I’m having trouble with a project and Lydia here volunteered to help me out.”

Melissa narrowed her eyes. “You told me your grades are fine.”

“They are! And I want to keep them that way.”

“Then, thank you, Lydia, for helping my son out.” She smiled, clearly thinking something else was going on, but then dug into her purse. “Here, why don’t you order a pizza or something?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Lydia protested. 

“Yeah, if we need to order something to eat, I’ve got money.” Scott pushed the money back into his mother’s hand. “I hope you don’t have to work too late.”

“Me too, kiddo.” 

Scott and Lydia watched his mother get into her car and leave. Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia caught the slump of his shoulders. 

“Is there something wrong?”

The boy turned away from the window. “She works too much. How much time do you have before you have to go home?”

“I’ve already told my mother I’m getting dinner with a boy, so we’re not racing the clock.”

Scott blushed adorably. “So would you like to order pizza?”

“No.” Lydia shuddered. “Do you know what grease does to your complexion? Show me your kitchen.”

Obediently, Scott led her into the McCall kitchen. It didn’t take her long to find something worthwhile to make — creamy garlic chicken — and start cooking. She had learned how to cook with her mother. It was one of the things they made a point of doing together. 

Scott perched himself on the counter opposite and watched her cook, finding things she needed from the cabinets when she had trouble doing it herself, but it was obvious he had no clue how to cook. Lydia gave him a reproachful glare after he admitted he admitted as much.

“My mom doesn’t want me to!” He protested.

“Sure she doesn’t.”

“No, I mean it. She really doesn’t. I think …” He hesitated. “I think she doesn’t want me to cook because she’s ashamed that she works so much, leaving me to take care of myself all the time. I also think she’s upset that I work so much. I try to tell her it’s okay, but for some reason she blames herself for my dad not being around.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where is your father?”

“Somewhere else being an asshole.”

Lydia burst out in laughter. “Does he work with my dad?”

“I don’t know. He’s some big-shot FBI agent, so I guess he’s out there doing important things.” The tone and delivery pretty much implied that Scott believed his father didn’t consider him important.

“My father is out there looking for his first trophy wife.” Lydia sneered and then turned back to the food. “Even if your mother doesn’t want you to, you should really learn to cook. You’ll need to do it once you go to college.”

“I guess.”

“Knowing how to cook is very attractive to certain people.” She opened a pot and inhaled. 

“Oh, Isaac isn’t big on that stuff.”

Lydia frowned and then added some spice to the chicken. 

Scott didn’t miss her disguised displeasure. “Isaac’s a good guy.”

“Is he? The entire school knows that he hits you.”

“He doesn’t! Not the way people think.” Scott grimaced. “He doesn’t mean to.”

Lydia turned to face him and put both hands on her hips. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

“I know how it sounds, but part of becoming a werewolf is dealing with increased aggression. Sometimes Isaac loses his temper, and he doesn’t have to hide it anymore, so he doesn’t know how to manage. I’m helping him with that.”

“What, as his punching bag?”

“No. As Derek’s Pack Emissary … or Emissary-to-be.” Scott stood up straighter. “Isaac needs someone who is always in his corner. One of the things you’ll learn is that being a werewolf brings with it a whole set of problems humans don’t have. They’re influenced by things we aren’t. In the end, Isaac’s never seriously hurt me, and he easily could have.” 

Lydia paused and turned back to the cooking. “Okay. I believe you.” She did not believe him. 

There was a knock on the door. Scott, grateful for the end of that conversation, scampered down the hall. “I’ll get it.”

Lydia drained the asparagus and put it in a bowl. Creamy garlic chicken with rice and asparagus wasn’t a bad meal if she did say so herself. 

Scott re-entered, leading Derek Hale into the kitchen, his sour face seemingly a permanent fixture of his skull. 

“Will you join us for dinner?”

“What?” Whatever Derek had been expecting from her, it had not been that. 

“I’ve made plenty of food. Join us for dinner. Scott would you set the table, please?”

Scott started to do so as Lydia cleaned her hand in the sink. “So, Derek, though it hasn’t been elaborated upon, I’ve noticed that everyone defers to you as some sort of authority. Would you mind explaining that to me?”

“Is it important?” 

“Well, I think so.” Lydia dried her hands with a towel while looking him in the eye. “I’ve been drawn into your world, and if there’s anything high school has taught me is that etiquette is important.”

“I’m the alpha.” Derek admitted grudgingly. 

“Yes, I figured as much. What does that mean?”

“I lead the pack.” He seemed a little confused by the question, as if someone asked him what breathing meant. 

“Am I violating your territory? Do I have to pledge fealty?”

Derek’s eyebrows danced a little as it finally occurred to him what she could be getting at. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. My pack protects Beacon Hills, but we’re not … I don’t tell people outside of the pack what they can or can’t do.” He blinked. “Well, that’s not true. I don’t let other creatures eat humans or things like that.”

“A pack is like a family,” Scott offers. “Though the bonds between pack members can be even stronger than those between family members. They have real effects on the strength, speed, and resilience of the individual members. Alphas are even stronger, faster, tougher, and they can heal quicker than normal werewolves, and they also derive more strength from these bonds.”

Lydia couldn’t help it, and it was embarrassing. Her eyes went to the missing arm.

“We do heal from wounds that would kill a human being. We can’t regenerate lost limbs.” Derek’s voice was gruff. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Derek shook his head. “It’s a common mistake. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Table’s set!” Scott announced, too loudly. 

They sat down for the meal. Lydia was pleased that they liked it so much. She noted that Scott hadn’t put out any knives. Luckily, she had cut the chicken up into bite size pieces for the recipe. 

“Dr. Deaton was telling me he was an adviser to your mother.”

Derek nodded. 

“So you were born a werewolf?” 

“Yes. The Hales were a pack and a family. Though some Hales were born human.”

Lydia decided not to broach the subject of the Hale fire. “I don’t think that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were born that way.”

“No. I Bit them.”

“You didn’t bite Liam Dunbar or Jackson Whittemore? Did you consider biting them?”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “I don’t even know who they are.”

Lydia pouted. “I was wondering if perhaps I heard your intent. How did you select your betas? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Derek turned to Scott, confused but interested. 

“She had visions of them as werewolves. Maybe you should tell her the whole story.”

“After the fire, Laura and I moved away.” Derek didn’t seem like he was going to touch about it. “We placed our uncle in a long-term care facility. He had been badly burned and was in a coma. When he came out of it, he lured my sister to Beacon Hills and killed her.”

Lydia’s eyes got a little bigger.

“He wanted vengeance. He didn’t think that Laura would agree, and she was the alpha. If a werewolf kills an alpha, they become the alpha. He wanted the power, so he lured her here.”

“Vengeance on whom?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott come to a realization and try to signal Derek surreptitiously not to continue. He failed. 

“Kate Argent. The Argent family are werewolf hunters. She was responsible for burning my family.”

Lydia was shocked. Derek raised an eyebrow at her reaction, and Scott looked chagrined.

“Allison and Lydia were friends for the semester Allison was here.”

Derek looked between them. “If it helps, Allison and her father helped me survive against Kate. After my uncle killed Kate, they helped me stop my uncle.”

“It does, actually. Is that why she moved away?”

“Yes, and I’m grateful. At least your friend’s immediate family follows their Code. They convinced the other Argents that after Peter had killed Kate, they had killed Peter and that ended the threat. If there were no more werewolves in Beacon Hills, there was no reason for them to stay.”

Lydia put her fork down with an audible clink. “I am going to give her a piece of my mind. I swallowed her lies about her father having to transfer for work.”

“I never got to meet Allison,” Scott said, “but from what Derek’s told me, she sounds like a good person.”

“She felt …” Lydia hesitated. “She seemed less frivolous then the friends I have now.”

“She’s going to have to be,” Derek muttered. “She’s going to be the Matriarch of the most prestigious family of werewolf hunters in the world.”

“So, after your uncle died, you decided to create a new pack.” Lydia felt like changing the subject. “How did you choose them?”

“The Bite is a Gift,” Derek said. “I wanted to give it to people who would appreciate it. Isaac was in a difficult situation at home.”

“He still is.” Scott frowned over his food. 

“Erica’s life was crippled by epilepsy. Boyd was lonely.”

From the tone of reverence and care that Derek’s voice carried, Boyd wasn’t the only one. 

“So why didn’t you offer it to Scott?” She asked. She hadn’t mentioned Scott’s transformation in her visions to anyone yet.

“What?” Scott and Derek said the words together. 

“Scott already knows about the supernatural. He has pretty bad asthma.” She turned to him. “The whole school knows it.”

“Oh, well.” Scott looked down at his plate. “I guess we didn’t meet under the best circumstances.” 

Derek nodded. “Before it was revealed that my uncle was the one who killed Laura, I thought it was Dr. Deaton.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Scott looked embarrassed. “I caught Derek attacking Doc and tried to stop him. I thought he was a robber. I’m glad I was stupid enough to try to stop him rather than just call the police. It took a while for us to get to the point of trusting each other.”

“But you don’t want him to Bite you?”

“He can’t.” Scott smiled at Derek. “I’ve agreed to be his Emissary. That means I have to help tie him and his pack to the human world. I can’t do that if I’m a werewolf, too.” 

“I see.” She wanted to ask Derek why he would agree to someone like Scott being his adviser, but she wasn’t going to do it in front of their host. “Are the others coming?”

“Not tonight.” Derek admitted. “After some trial and error, I’ve insisted they have to spend time with their families. In the case of Erica and Boyd, I don’t want them to give that up, even if they’re happy as members of my pack.” 

Scott muttered. “In the case of Mr. Lahey, we don’t want him to call the police on us. _Again._ ”

Neither Scott nor Derek seemed to like Isaac’s father at all. 

“Then I have to ask another question, Derek. Do you want me to stay away from your pack?”

Scott looked like he was going to object but he bit his tongue. 

“No need to do that,” Derek responded. “From what Alan has told me, you’ve had a rough time with your gifts, but that’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what my visions mean. I understand what the doctor said, but they could mean … problems for you.”

“If there are problems, Lydia, we’ll deal with them.” Derek nodded. “It’s what my mother would have wanted.”

**~*~**

When Lydia parted ways with Derek and Scott, she imagined that they were going to spend some time talking about what to make of her. She didn’t mind. She felt satisfied, at least on a certain level. She got into her car feeling more stable than she had in weeks.

She wasn’t happy, of course. While the supernatural world seemed interesting — and not a little bit challenging — the lack of choice bothered her. She hadn’t figured it into any of her plans for her life, which had consisted of dominating the school for the rest of the year, going to either MIT or Stanford, and conquering the academic world.

Still, what made her feel worse was her grandmother. Her mother had always been quiet about exactly had been wrong with Lorraine Martin. In the few short conversations that Lydia could remember overhearing, Lorraine’s eccentric behavior had put a strain on the family, until she had finally been committed to a mental institution and died there. Lydia wanted to know more, but it would take careful planning to get her mother to talk about it.

She parked the car and shut off the engine. She would do what little homework she had and then go to bed. Her mother could keep until Lydia figured out how she wanted to approach this.

Only, she wasn’t at home. She was at the school.

“What the hell?” 

She started walking forward, even as a little voice in the back of her head screamed at her that she shouldn’t. It insisted she should get back into the car and drive home. It suggested that she should take out her phone can call someone. Call Scott. Call her mother. But she wouldn’t. Not yet anyway.

Her steps didn’t take her to the school itself, but out to the lacrosse pitch. No one was around at this time of night, the clocks slowly creeping their way towards midnight. The half-moon hung low in the sky, its fitful light illuminating the ground fog that had rolled in from the Preserve. She stopped at the edge of the field.

“What am I doing here?” There was only one way to answer that question, so she let herself step onto the field. One foot after another, leaving a trail in the fog behind her.

As she walked towards the center of the field, she heard her own voice, echoing through the night, but faint. “Jackson?” 

She answered the echo. “Jackson?”

Her boyfriend didn’t answer because he wasn’t there. She looked around the pitch. With no lights, with no crowd, it was alien and isolated and her heart began beating faster. 

There. Emerging between the bleachers was a phantom. She peered at the translucent image. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a beast. 

Fear creeped up her spine as the phantom began to stalk toward her. 

“Lydia!”

Someone was calling her name. She didn’t recognize the voice but at the same time, she understood from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head that she should know it.

“Lydia, run!”

The warning shouts came from the opposite side of the pitch. She turned away from the terrifying phantom tearing her eyes from its menace toward this new voice. Without lights, all she saw was a dark shape running toward her. It didn’t so much as stir the fog, so it wasn’t someone who was actually there. It was someone who _should_ be there.

All she had to do was wait. The moon would reveal his face soon enough. 

Instead, there was a crack of thunder, and she staggered backwards. Horses with riders had appeared between the phantoms and herself. A quick glance showed five of them and they started circling her. They were dressed in cowboy garb, like extras from a Western, armed with whips and guns. They might have once been human, but their face betrayed their strangeness, having the texture and color of rotted wood, dead eyes, and overgrown mouths. 

She gave a scream, a normal one and not at all like the one that had made her pass out in the clinic. They rode around her in a tightening circle, until she could feel the wind generated by the horses’ gallops. But they weren’t trying to hurt her.

They were trying to drive her away.

Lydia finally took steps back toward her car. They moved with her, herding her off the lacrosse pitch. She had to let them. She didn’t know how to fight. She didn’t have any weapons. But if they thought that they had succeeded, they had not. She would find out who these riders were and why they would want to stop her from discovering what her own powers could tell her. She hadn’t wanted these powers; she hadn’t asked for them. But they were hers, and they were trying to show her something important. She knew it.

No one would stop her from finding out what it was.


	3. Circadian Rhythms

Lydia gave herself a firm twenty-four hours to recover from her encounter with the mysterious horsemen. For that period of time, she went about her life as if the incident had not happened. She excluded the implications of the existence of werewolves and banshees and the supernatural from her existence. Jackson had taken her to dinner and a movie and they had had a good, if unexceptional, time. She had come home, and, after chatting with her mother, she had retired to her room. 

“Setting boundaries is important,” she lectured Prada as the dog followed her into the bedroom. Prada was a good listener. Her pet had learned over the years, for example, that she was not allowed on the bed, so eventually she had stopped trying.

Giving the obedient Pomeranian a pat on the head, Lydia decided that it was time for her window of normalcy to close. She sat down on her bed and brought out her laptop. Lying flat on her stomach, she first began typing up an e-mail to Allison. She thought she would start by playing coy in bringing the subject up, but soon she rejected the idea. In the single semester she had known Allison Argent, it had become obvious that her friend preferred straight talk and open emotion to games, so she wrote down exactly what was going on in Bacon Hills as clearly as Lydia knew how. 

Her next e-mail was to Deaton. She described, in as much detail as she could, how she had driven to the lacrosse field without being aware of it. She described the phantoms she had seen and how the mysterious horsemen had prevented her from learning more about either of them. When she went to hit the Send button, her fingers hesitated over the key.

Over the years, Prada had become attuned to her moods. Lying on the floor at the floor at the foot of Lydia’s bed, the dog whimpered.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’m done being afraid. It’s tacky.” She hit the SEND button with determination. Lydia turned off the laptop and put it away before snagging a book off her bedtable. She’d read a little Hofstadter before going to bed.

Her phone rang before she got to the end of the page. When she saw the name on the caller ID, she smiled. That had been very fast.

“Hello, Allison!”

“First things first, are you okay?”

“I’m peachy.” 

“Then what the hell is going on there, Lydia?”

“Oh, the same type of things that went down when you actually lived here and pretended to be my friend. Werewolves. Monsters. Supernatural goings on.” She didn’t hold back when it came to ladling on the sarcasm.

Allison hesitated. “I am your friend, and in my defense, I didn’t know about any of that either when we became friends.”

“I see, so we found each other in the dark. When were you planning to tell me?”

“I’m not lying to you. My parents hadn’t been planning to tell me until after I was old enough to decide if I wanted to be a hunter or not. They wanted to give me a choice.”

“Well that was extraordinarily kind of them to worry about what you might want. I’m sure you forgave them when you found that they had been hiding things from you?”

There was another period of silence from the phone. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.”

“I really am sorry. Back then, everything was all so new and yet so terrifying. Derek’s uncle wanted to kill my entire family, so I had to learn a lot in a very short time. I didn’t tell you because …” Allison’s voice grew firm. “Because it would have been wrong to tell you under those circumstances. One of the truths I’ve learned is that you can’t avoid the supernatural world if you know about it. What you know makes you responsible, and I didn’t see any reason to make you responsible for something just because you chose to be friends with me.”

“I could have helped.”

Allison sighed. “You did help. You were a real friend when everything else in my life had turned out to not be what I thought it was.”

“I know how you felt.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you do. What can I do to help you now?”

Lydia explained quickly and as succinctly as she could, all that she knew about being a banshee. Allison listened carefully, not interrupting once during the entire conversation. When she wasn’t distracted, Allison could be an excellent listener.

“I wish I could drive down there right now, but I can’t.”

“Is something happening?”

“Yes, but it’s not exactly a hunting thing. It’s more a family thing.” Allison sighed. “Gerard, my grandfather, has entered hospice. It’ll be any day now.” 

“Where are you?”

“Rochester, Minnesota.” She sighed. “It’s so weird, Lydia. My parents despise my grandfather, but they are determined to be here when he passes. It’s like they’re desperate to make sure he’s gone.”

“And you have to stay there with them?”

“They want me to be. But if you say you need me, though, I’ll come. I’ll find a way to sneak out. I mean, the first time I saw my grandfather since I was three was at Kate’s funeral. He doesn’t mean as much to me as you do.”

Allison said it with such conviction that Lydia couldn’t help but smile. Other friends of hers had been around longer, but there had always been something special about Allison. 

“That’s not necessary. Not yet, anyway.”

“Is there anything I can do from here?”

Lydia thought about it. “We can go over some of the things that I’ve been told recently. Can you talk about what hunters think of them?”

“You don’t trust the people who told you?”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t have any reason to doubt them, but the way they talk about things seems to be pretty much colored by their perspective. I want to hear yours.”

“I can do that. After all, they’ve been training me to be in charge. Mom’s being a hard-ass about me knowing everything there is to know in order to make the right decision.”

“Not your dad?”

“It turns out that the leader of my family is always supposed to be a woman. Mom makes the calls. That’s one of the reasons that they didn’t like Gerard. He tried to boss her around.”

“I like your familly’s way of doing things already. Can we get started?”

“Ready.”

“Tell me about Derek Hale. He seems really young to be an authority, but everyone seems to defer to him.”

“He’s been through a lot.” Allison’s voice dropped a little. “Most of which was my Aunt Kate’s fault.” 

“He told me as much. You’re not responsible for what she did.”

“It’s just hard, Lydia. I told you how much I considered her like an older sister. To find out she did such horrible things.” 

“So it wasn’t sanctioned by your mother?”

“No! We don’t kill werewolves who haven’t spilled human blood and even then we don’t kill children. There were humans in that house, Lydia, and Kate didn’t care. To slaughter an entire family of innocents is one thing, but the way she did it. What she did to Derek!”

“Did she cut off his arm?”

“No.” Allison hesitated. “He did that. She did shoot him with a poisoned bullet, so it was either cut off his arm or die. I’m talking about how she arranged for the Hale House to burn. She posed as a substitute teacher and seduced him so he could tell her all the secret ways of getting into the house.”

“Ewwww.”

“I know, right? It was so hard to put all of these things together in my head. That’s why we had to make sure Derek was okay … or rather, safe. I don’t know how he could ever be okay.”

“He seems to be handling it, though he’s not a big talker.”

Allison laughed. “He never was.” 

The conversation continued for over an hour. Lydia interrogated Allison, who interrogated her right back. Lydia was smiling at the end of it, though she was very tired. They promised to make this call a weekly thing, and Allison promised to visit as soon as she was able.

**~*~**

Lydia hid her surprise when Erica Reyes sat down next to her on the bleachers at the next home game. Tracy’s and Harley’s heads swiveled to stare at the newcomer, but Lydia didn’t let it phase her. She hadn’t expected it, to be quite honest, but after a moment it became obvious what had motivated the werewolf’s appearance.

“Well, hello there!”

Most people who remembered Erica Reyes remembered her as ‘that epileptic girl.’ She had suffered humiliation due to the nature of the seizures, unpleasant side effects from the medication, and social oblivion from the combination of the two. This was no longer true. She was beautiful, confident and well-dressed. She sat down in the middle of the ruling clique of Beacon Hills High School like she had nothing to fear.

Lydia was the only one who was quite aware that she didn’t.

“Hello there, Lydia.”

“What are you doing here?” Lydia asked. “We’re not playing Devenford.”

“I know several Cyclones, and I had nothing better to do tonight.”

“Are you sure? This other team is from Yuba City, and they don’t have much of a shot. Hey, do you know my friends?”

“No. Should I want to?”

Harley looked offended; Tracy took it as the joke she thought it was.

“Everyone wants to know my friends.” Lydia introduced them to each other. 

“How did you meet Lydia?” Harley asked, and she was being sincere. She had a sharp tongue, but she didn’t attack strangers or outsiders for the sake of using it. She always remembered being an outsider herself and saved her sarcasm for those who she felt deserved it for what they did, not who they were.

“Technically …” Erica savored the word. “We met our freshman year.”

“I don’t remember.”

“After a seizure, you offered me some low-cost makeup tips.”

Lydia tilted her head. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yup.” Erica smirked. 

“I’m sorry.” Lydia ran a hand through her hair. “It was mean of me. In fact, it wasn’t just mean, it was cheap.”

The aggression slid off of Erica’s face. She licked her lips. “We were young. No harm done.”

Lydia caught Erica’s eye and nodded to show that the truce was struck. 

Tracy shifted uncomfortably. “So, who do you know on the team?”

“Let’s see,” Erica scanned the field. “I know Isaac.” She paused and screamed, “Go Lahey!”

Out on the field getting read to the start the game, Isaac looked up at his name. He shook his stick at her. 

“Oh. What’s his deal?” Harley asked conspiratorially. “Leather fetish or James Dean-stan?”

“It’s a form of hero worship,” Erica admitted. “And a little bit of rebellion.” 

“Usually, a little rebellion is totally hot. Too bad for Tracy he only has eyes for McCall.”

Tracy sighed. “Harley!”

“You watch him a lot, that’s all I’m saying.”

“He’s easy on the eyes,” confided Erica. “And he may not seem like it, but he is a really nice guy.”

All three of the other girls looked at her in disbelief.

“Okay. Okay. He’s not a nice guy,” Erica admitted. “He’s …” 

“Intense?” offered Lydia. 

Erica waggled her hand.

“He’s a bad boy,” Harley suggested, “but not a bad guy.”

“That’ll work as any,” Erica smiled at her. “We’re friends, so he’s not a bad boy to me.” 

A referee blew his whistle, signaling the beginning of the game. The four took to cheering at appropriate times.

With knowledge that Isaac was a werewolf, Lydia studied how the boy moved while he was on the field. It was only because he was obviously holding himself back that Isaac wasn’t better than Jackson or Liam. The very act of making sure he didn’t run too fast or throw the ball too strong or drive an opposing player into the ground distracted him. Otherwise, no one could have stopped him on the field.

Lydia and the girls kept cheering every time the Cyclones scored. While she relished the excitement of the game, Lydia also managed to keep one eyes on Scott. At this rate, he would never play, as he had never played. Yet he cheered just as loudly as everyone else.

Erica followed her eyes. “He’s like that.”

“Hmmmm.”

The werewolf leaned closer to her. “One of the reasons that Scott is good for Isaac, one of the reasons he’s good for all of us, is he doesn’t given up, even on things like this.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows, questioningly.

“When you’re dealing with people like us, you’ve got to be able to put up with a lot of shit. We’re moody. And we’re often angry. It doesn’t help that a lot of us have chips on our shoulders.”

“I see,” Lydia said. “What does Scott get out of it?”

“Huh?”

“His … task with you seems thankless. What does he get out of it?”

“Aside from Isaac?”

Lydia laughs. “That’s pretty mercenary.”

“Isn’t it the same with you and Big Man on Campus?” Erica jerked her head towards Jackson. “From what I’ve been told, you aren’t really head-over-heels in love with each other.”

Her tone was carefully light and not at all accusatory.

“Jackson and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement. We do like each other. We like spending time with each other.” She turned her body away so Harley and Tracy couldn’t overhear, even if they bothered to stop paying attention to the game. “We also like the social status our relationship gives us, but we’re not going to beat death with our true love anytime soon.” 

The words echoed in her ears. Why did she say that?

“That’s surprisingly …”

“Mature?” Lydia suggested. “Jaded? To be honest, I’m not sure. But it works for us. How do they work?” 

Erica watched the back of Scott’s head. “Why do you care?”

“I would say curiosity, but I find myself mysteriously interested in Scott McCall’s emotional wellbeing, so I’m going to ask.”

“Oh.” Instead of being freaked out, Erica looked interested. “Well, I could act as an armchair psychologist if you wanted me to. I’m not Ms. Monroe, but I’ve done some reading.”

“By all means, psychoanalyze away.”

The werewolf studied the back of Number Eleven’s head. “Scott was missing something from his life when we met him. His mother is a fantastic lady. He’s got a good job and pretty much a father-figure relationship with Deaton. He’s going to go to college at U.C. Davis, most likely. Yet when I met him, he was lonely.”

“Everyone’s lonely sometimes.” 

“But, this was more like he was empty, like some part of him had been ripped away. Isaac fit in that hole. Not perfectly, of course. Isaac is a little too broken; his edges are too sharp. So, yeah, it looks like Scott follows Isaac around and he lets Isaac boss him around, but it’s better than the alternative, I guess.”

“Who do you think Scott’s missing?”

Erica laughed. “I couldn’t possibly say, but in a way I’m glad he does. For Isaac’s sake, if not the pack’s.”

Lydia watched Isaac score a goal and the crowd cheered like mad. He rotated out, Coach Finstock slapping him on the back as he came in. He immediately headed toward the bench where Scott gave him a high-five before they sat down next to each other. She couldn’t see their faces, but she watched Scott give Isaac a one-armed hug, pulling him closer. 

Isaac turned to find Erica in the stands. His face was beaming; he seemed terribly happy. Erica threw up her arms and yelled. He gave her a thumbs up and then turned back to Scott, who hadn’t let go. For a moment, Isaac put his mouth to Scott’s ear as if he was whispering something, but he also buried his nose in Scott’s hair. 

Lydia thought it was cute. It certainly looked like something good. Maybe she should leave things well enough alone, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t help but look at the space on the other side of Scott. No one sat there, and that wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right at all.

**~*~**

By the time they were seniors, Lydia, through Jackson, had learned about all the privileged rituals of the lacrosse team. One of them was that, after a victory but before the victory party, the senior players would drive to a small diner a few miles south of Chico on the Golden State Highway. These celebratory meals had been happening for years, and the owners of the diner had come to rely upon them. They always had the place ready for the players, putting tables together so they could all sit together. Each player was allotted one spot for a significant other, or a best friend if they weren’t seeing anyone, so they didn’t swamp the staff.

This had been the first victory of the season, so it was Lydia’s first time here. The ritual had baffled her for a few minutes until the intimacy and relative calm of the diner had struck her. Lacrosse games were fueled by adrenaline and the rush of victory wouldn’t do anything to diminish that. The victory parties, which circulated among the houses of the players whose parents permitted that sort of thing, would be alcohol-fueled bacchanalia. Younger players could go home and celebrate with their families, but by this point in their high-school careers, the families of the veterans, while mostly supportive, wouldn’t be as excited about another lacrosse victory. 

This was a place to simply be excited and happy without feeling overwhelmed.

“But why here?” She asked, out loud.

“The police,” Matt Daehler answered as he raised his camera in her direction. “Smile.”

Lydia gave the photographer her best look, even though she felt a little disturbed by his presence. 

“What do the police have to do with it?”

“After lacrosse got big in the late 90s,” Matt explained as he snapped another picture, “there were some parties that would make tonight’s look like Bible Camp. Parents started complaining, so the sheriff back then decided to have the team captain followed.” 

“Ahhh. The captain and some other players would drive here and have dinner until the cops got bored and went away.”

“Pretty much.”

“Matt, how do you know all this stuff?” Scott asked.

“Principle Thomas recruited me to the yearbook staff.” Matt rolled his eyes. “There’s all sorts of stuff in the closet that would never, ever make it into the yearbooks.”

“It must be fun to read through all of that.”

Matt shrugged. “I guess I have a thing about the stuff that happens to people being forgotten.”

Lydia shivered, though it wasn’t cold in the diner at all.

Luckily, she was distracted by the waitress delivering her food. Jackson had suggested the turkey club and the strawberry milkshake, as he had become proficient in determining what she would like over the years. Jackson, on the other hand, like the big wanna-be he-man that he was, insisted on the steak sandwich with extra mozzarella with fries and a root beer. The way he tucked it in made the order seem like a political statement.

All seven seniors had made it to the diner tonight. Jackson had to be there, of course, and he had insisted on bringing Lydia. Scott and Isaac came with each other, as they tended to be together at every social event. Danny, on the other hand, had come solo; he was seeing a college sophomore at the University of Northern California, but the boy couldn’t afford to drive up for every game. Jackson had teased him mercilessly about Danny, after having dated every loser in Beacon Hills, had to look in other zip codes. Keith and Brian had brought dates with them. Keith’s girlfriend Tess was pleasant enough though Lydia had had little to do with her, but Brian had brought Anna-Catherine Marquand. This was their second ‘date.’ 

Lydia smiled at her would-be rival. She had decided she would be benevolent unless Anna-Catherine unwisely decided to get aggressive. If she did so, it would be … a mistake. Lydia found she had little patience for pretentious challengers recently.

“Just one more picture!” Matt moved to the other side of the diner and stood in one of the booths to take in the whole team. He was the last senior, thought like Scott he rode the bench more than he ever played, which seemed to suit him just fine. He seemed far more interested in photography, about which, like tonight, he often seemed to get a little too intense. 

Still, having pictures of this wouldn’t be everyone complied with a smile. 

“Sit down. You’ve got enough pictures,” Jackson commanded. “Your food is getting cold.”

“Why do you care?”

Jackson’s face froze the way it did when people caught him being a relatively decent human being. “I don’t.” He threw up his hands sarcastically. “But there are responsibilities when you’re a good team captain. You’ll take better pictures on a full stomach.”

Matt smirked at him. “Whatever.”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Lydia attempted to soothe Matt from across the table. She didn’t want people to be angry.

“I know.” Matt picked up his sandwich. “I know he just has to fill his asshole quotient for today.”

“Yeah,” Jackson replied. “If I don’t, they’ll take away my membership card.”

Scott burst out laughing, a little too hard, misreading the situation for genuine good humor rather than the social power play that it was. He tended to miss that dynamic when it came to power. Isaac nudged him.

“What?”

“Have a fry.” Isaac fed his befuddled boyfriend.

Danny put his phone down, sighing. Anna-Catherine decided to actually make an effort at speaking. “Problems?”

“No.” Danny turned to her and looked her up and down, with the air of _should I know you?_ “It’s just …”

Everyone turned to look at him. Danny was not only cool, he never seemed down or upset. 

“We can’t wait for high school to be over, you know? And then suddenly, the end can be measured in weeks, rather than years.” He shrugged. “The question — what am I going to do when I graduate? — isn’t a daydream anymore. I have to answer it.”

“What’re you planning to do?”

Danny bit his lip. “I’m going to do Computer Science somewhere, but … I used to look forward to it, but I’m not … don’t you feel like something’s missing?”

Lydia turned sharply to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Matt asked. 

Danny picked up his glass of lemonade and looked at it. “We’ve done everything we supposed to do as high schoolers, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not supposed to be here. That I wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

Anna-Catherine laughed and Lydia shot her the shut-up-you-punk glare. It worked. A glance around showed that Matt, Jackson, Isaac, and Scott all seemed disturbed at the revelation, but not incredulous.

“Where would you be instead?” asked Brian.

“Somewhere else.” Isaac answered. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Brian wasn’t a deep thinker. “You guys need to stop worrying about it. Everything is great.”

“I guess you’re right,” Danny replied. 

Lydia watched the group start to move on from its pause. No one wanted to ruin the fun of the evening, but she understood it wasn’t just fun. She finished her sandwich and then leaned into Jackson’s ear. “I’ll be right back.” 

Jackson nodded and launched into a discussion of the newest model of Porsche. He had brand loyalty.

Sliding out of her seat, Lydia went over and tapped Danny on the shoulder. “Come outside with me for a moment.”

It was cold out, so they grabbed their jackets. She led them to the parking lot, where he leaned up against his car. “What’s up?”

“What are you missing?”

Danny tried to brush it off. “I was just … you know, I was just being stupid, like Brian said.”

“I don’t think so. Tell me.”

“What are you doing, Lydia?”

“I’m listening. What do you think you’re missing?”

He sighed, staring off down the highway. Big rigs roared down the road, taking loads of cargo from one place to another. “Did you ever have a dream in which it seemed like you had lead a whole other life?”

She made a noncommittal noise. 

“It’s not real.” Danny explained. “It’s not good or bad, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lived through things that haven’t happened.”

“So why does it bother you so much?”

“Did I ever tell you about my family?”

Lydia shook her head. 

“Our family legends says we’re descended from a famous makaula. They were wise people and seers before the colonizers came to the islands.” He said. “They dreamed the truth.”

“Danny.” She said his name. “Why did your family move to Beacon Hills?”

“It’s just a story. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She reached out and took his arm. “Tell me.”

“They say my great-grandfather had a dream about a magic tree and moved here because of that dream.” Danny blushed. “I know it sounds stupid.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all, but we should get back inside.”

Danny nodded and started to go back in, but Lydia suddenly stopped him. 

“Could you be missing someone?” She demanded.

Her friend thought about it and his face crinkled in confusion. “Yeah. I think I am.”

**~*~**

“Do you really want to go to this party?” Jackson asked her as they roared down a county road a little after ten.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“You seem a little distracted tonight, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I am a little distracted.” She smiled at him to reward him for noticing. “But it’s nothing that’s going to get better if I decide not to have any fun.”

Jackson smiled back. “You can talk about it if you want.”

Lydia turned away to stare at the trees of the Preserve whizzing by the Porsche’s window. She hadn’t spoken to Jackson about any of these things: banshees, werewolves, and the mystery that was drawing her into their orbit. She should. They had long grown the past the need to hide the worst parts of themselves from each other.

But she held back, and she wasn’t sure exactly why. 

Maybe it was that she thought that since he had grown so much in the last few years, it was nicer for her not to do it. His senior year found him happy yet ready to move on. He didn’t need to be involved with monsters and insanity.

Maybe it was that she thought he wouldn’t be able to handle it, and she’d have to contain with a stressed-out boyfriend along with her own problems. Jackson may be a better person than he had been, but he still liked to be in control. The supernatural was definitely something he couldn’t control.

But something told her that these weren’t the real reasons. She was afraid — afraid that something terrible would happen to him. She didn’t want that.

“I will, if I need to.” She reassured him. “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me?” Jackson grimaced. “Now, I know something is wrong, but I’m not going to press. Not yet.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Never change, Jackson.” The words echoed in her own ear once more. 

They kept going. Keith’s parents had offered a barn on their stud ranch in a valley north of Beacon Hills for this season’s victory parties, with the stipulation that there be one designated driver for every four party goers. It was more than generous.

They were about to turn down the road when blue and red lights flashed in the back window. 

“Oh, fuck.”

“Were you speeding?”

“Only a little,” Jackson complained. “Fuck.”

“It’s not a construction zone, it shouldn’t cost that much.”

“I don’t know how many points I have on my …” He looked in the back mirror. “Well, I’m screwed. It’s Sheriff Stilinski.”

It was a stroke of bad luck. Sheriff Stilinski was an efficient law enforcement officer, so much so that he had easily won re-election, but he wasn’t the friendliest adult in Beacon Hills. Or Beacon County. Or the State of California. 

“Is there a problem, Sheriff?”

“You were going a little fast there, son.”

“Was I? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.” Jackson gave him his widest smile. 

“Could I see your license and registration?” The sheriff made a show of looking them over. “Congratulations on your victory.”

“I didn’t see you at the game, sheriff.”

“No. I listened on the radio. Have you been drinking?”

“No, Sheriff.”

Lydia sat in the seat. She predicted where the conversation was going, but she was studying the sheriff’s face. It was, for the lack of a better term, gaunt. He looked sadder and lonelier than she had expected, and that was odd as Sheriff Stilinski looked as he had always looked the few times she had met him. 

“So you’re on your way to the party and not coming from it.”

“Party?” Jackson had never gotten the innocent act down very well.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Whittemore. Where were you headed?”

“We were just out for a drive.”

“Going pretty fast for a leisurely drive. Want to try again?”

“No. I can wait here while you write me the ticket.”

“You will wait here.” The sheriff walked back to his car, deliberately. Lydia watched him through the rear-view mirror. He should have been livelier and quicker, but his steps were deliberate. This was a man who had nothing to do but write a ticket and then wait to write another ticket on another night on another lonely road.

She frowned, feeling empathy well up. This wasn’t right. Then she saw the horseman behind the police care. She swallowed.

It was one of the horsemen from the other night. He wasn’t moving, simply perched up aboard a relatively normal looking horse, like some sort of monstrous zombie bandit. But the rider wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the sheriff, who got into his car like there wasn’t a horrific undead equestrian fifteen feet from him.

“Jackson?”

“If I have to go to driving school, I’m going to stab myself in the face with a fork.”

“Jackson, would you do me a favor?”

“Yeah?” He broke out of his frustration spiral. “What do you need?”

“Turn around. What do you see behind the sheriff’s car?”

Jackson did so. “Nothing? What do you see?”

Lydia bit her lip. “Oh, I thought I saw … an animal.”

“What type of animal?”

She hesitated. It was the perfect time to tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to involve him. “I don’t know.” A fragment of a memory bubbled up her out of brain, and it demanded she utter it. “It might have been a mountain lion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Makaula_ is the name of seers and advisors to Hawaiian rulers in their folklore, as far as I can tell from my research. If I've botched this, please let me know.


	4. Venerable Objects

Isaac lounged in the chair across from her, sitting as close to his boyfriend as he dared to while avoiding the wrath of any teacher should they notice. He had stretched out his legs under the table and pretended that he was barely interested in what Lydia had been saying rather than admitting to being unable to comprehend her report. He was pretty transparent to her; he wasn’t the first boy who didn’t like having to admit he was lost.

Scott’s face, on the other hand, had slowly scrunched up tighter and tighter as she told her tale. When she finished, it relaxed for a second only to scrunch up once more. “Ghostly horsemen.”

“I know what I saw.”

“No! No, I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Scott protested, quickly. “I’m just trying to process it.”

They had decided to talk in the library, sitting at one of the tables on the second floor, during their free period. The only other student in the room was some poor sophomore shelving books for his lunch-time detention.

“I thought you were being trained to do this. Deaton didn’t seem to have a problem processing it.”

“Well, _yeah._ Deaton started training to become a druid and an emissary when he was ten. I didn’t know this stuff was real until I was sixteen. Deaton told me the other druids didn’t stop considering him a novice until he was thirty.”

“That’s a long time to study.”

Scott nodded pleasantly. “Deaton says being a druid is more like a lifestyle than simply getting a degree. I’m okay with that; nothing I’ve heard makes me think I won’t enjoy what it takes to learn, especially since it sort of goes along pretty well with being a veterinarian.”

“But you haven’t heard about something like this.”

“Not really. On the other hand, I’ve been pretty much concentrating on werewolf basics. Sorry.” Scott grimaced in apology. “Though I’m supposed to figure out a way to read the book he gave you after you’re done with it.”

“Why would he want you do that?” Lydia tilted her head to the side. “I’m not part of the pack.”

“Because you might need some help.”

She smiled at the sentiment. “Fair enough.”

“How far have you gotten into it?”

“Far enough to know that the text is hopelessly couched in metaphor and idiosyncrasy. I almost said mythology, but I’m not quite sure what’s a myth and what isn’t anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Isaac snorted.

“I’ve been able to put together some important thing, though. While the potential for all banshees is the same, the breadth and control of the power is dependent upon the individual.” Lydia began. “I might be stronger or weaker than other banshees.”

“The shape you take reflects the person that you are.” Scott quoted.

“Hmmm?”

“Oh, that’s something Deaton taught me. When an alpha bites someone, ninety-nine percent of the time, they turn into a werewolf.”

“But not always.”

“Not always. Deaton’s never seen it himself, but he does say it’s obviously possible if you pay close enough attention to the results of other, normal Bites. Werewolves — even werewolves who are Bitten by the same alpha — have different strengths.”

“Huh,” Isaac commented a little sourly. “I guess they’re just like people then.”

“You know what I mean,” Scott put his hand Isaacs arm. 

“No, I really don’t.”

“He means that it’s not strange for my experience with being a banshee to be different than what was recorded in the past, because I’m not like banshees in the past.” Lydia tapped her lip. “In fact, my experience could be completely different because the world is vastly different than when this book was written.”

Isaac snorted again. “The world hasn’t change that much.”

“As a good-looking white male, Isaac,” she replied, “I don’t imagine it has for you. But compared to the sixteenth century, I can have an opinion, I can have a job, I can choose not to get married, I can have sex without having a husband, and yet now I won’t be burned as a witch, so I can pretty much guarantee that my life is not even remotely similar to the banshees these texts were based upon.”

Isaac bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

Lydia waved him off. She didn’t have time to teach Lahey the fundamentals of feminism. She had important work to do. “As interesting as this discussion is, it’s not why I asked you here. I need a different type of help.”

“Okay.” Scott looked relieved. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I think I will actually need Isaac’s help more. I need to get into the Stilinski house, preferably without Mr. Stilinski knowing.”

Scott’s mouth fell open.

“You want to break into the sheriff’s home.” Isaac said, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, if you can’t do it—”

“No, I just wanted to make sure that I understood the task. We can do it.”

“Isaac!” Scott was scandalized. He turned wide eyes to Lydia. “Why?”

“Because that rider, which none of you can see, wasn’t focused on me the night of the game. He was focused on the sheriff.”

Quiet reigned as Isaac and Scott thought about what that might mean. 

“You think you’ll be able to find a clue as to why in the sheriff’s house?”

“I think that it’s the only lead I have,” Lydia argued, “Until your boss gets done with his research.”

“He’s gone for a few days to get an answer to that very question.” Scott fidgeted with his pencil. “Maybe we should wait until he comes back?”

“I’m not interested in waiting. Even if I didn’t keep experiencing the undeniable feeling that all this is very important, I never have been and I’m never going to be someone who sits around passively waiting for a solution to present itself. Not when there are concrete steps I can take.” Lydia shook her head. “So, are you going to help me or not?”

“Yes.” Scott said firmly, though he was obviously reluctant. “I’ll help.”

“Hell, yeah,” Isaac crowed. “It’ll be fun.”

“For whatever reason those horsemen are here, they’re interested in preventing me from finding it and they’re watching Noah Stilinski as well. I can’t — for good reason — just walk up to the sheriff and ask if he knows about the supernatural and if he had any dealings with it. So, we have to do it the round-about way. This is the first step.”

“Scott and I will stop by on the way home tonight and check out to see if he has any security.” 

“We will?”

“It’ll be fun.” Isaac patted his boyfriend on the head. “Trust me.”

**~*~**

“I feel ridiculous,” Lydia complained, trying to stuff a stray hair up under her knit cap.

“You’re the one who wanted to break into the sheriff’s house.”

“Are black clothes really necessary? I feel like a cartoon burglar.”

Scott didn’t even turn his head to answer her; his eyes were glued on the target house, where his boyfriend was busy trying to find a way for them to get in. “Necessary? No, it’s not. It will only help us a little bit.”

“It makes us look suspicious.”

“Three teenagers hanging around the sheriff’s house this close to midnight are going to look suspicious anyway. I’m pretty sure his neighbors know he lives alone.”

Lydia crossed her arms in a huff. She didn’t have an answer.

“Bright colors and bare skin reflect the moonlight pretty well. Black clothing absorbs light. If we’re going to look suspicious no matter what we do, let’s minimize the chances we get spotted.”

“How many houses have you broken into?”

“Including this house?”

“Yeah.”

Scott gave her a cheeky smile. “One.”

Lydia sighed. “You’re terrible.”

Before Scott could defend himself, the light on the front stoop flickered off and on. Isaac had arranged that as the signal ahead of time. Quickly, they exited her car and moved as quickly as they could to the door. Isaac leaned up against the wall in the foyer, looking smug.

“How did you get in?”

“People don’t tend to lock the windows on the second floor,” Isaac shrugged and then tapped himself on the chest. “Werewolf.”

With a sideways glance at Scott, Lydia asked. “How many houses have you broke into?”

“Including this house?”

“Yeah.”

Isaac gave her a cheeky smile. “I’ve lost count.”

“At least someone knows what they’re doing.” She looked around the darkened foyer. 

“What should we be looking for?” Scott asked. 

“Anything that doesn’t fit, though someone should keep an eye out for the police.” She walked into the living room. “I’m over eighteen and I don’t need a police record.”

“What are you going to do?”

“When I figure that out, Isaac, you’ll be the first one I tell.” 

She turned on her flashlight and swept it around the room. It didn’t take Lydia long to decide that the Stilinski house was less a home and more of a shrine which sometimes doubled as a place for Noah Stilinski to sleep and eat meals. Every object had its place, and the veneer of dust on many of them indicated that they hadn’t been moved in years. In the past, someone had arranged these rooms, and the sheriff had in return made a significant effort to keep it exactly as it had been. As she moved through the living, she notices that of the two chairs in front of the television, only one had been sat on recently. 

“The sheriff’s wife died, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah.” Scott’s voice carried from the foyer, where he must have been standing with Isaac keeping an eye on the front. “She passed in 2004.”

Nine years gone. Nine years spent living in a mausoleum disguised as a home. There had to be something here. There had to be.

The kitchen revealed to Lydia that the Sheriff was a neat person. She suspected he might even be ex-military. There wasn’t even a single dirty plate in the sink and nothing was left to air dry in the dish rack. The refrigerator was full of simple foods in small portions. The sheriff didn’t seem to be much of a cook, and he didn’t seem to have a lot of company. 

She had divined some insightful conclusions about Noah Stilinksi’s personal life, but nothing to indicate why the mysterious riders might be interested in him. She headed upstairs, because she needed to be thorough so she could call it a dead end. When she padded down the darkened upstairs hallway in a house she had never been in before, she shivered like she had run into a ghost. 

She stopped at one door, and suddenly her conviction that she had never been here before wavered. It all seemed so familiar. Guessing from the layout of the second floor, behind the door should be a bedroom. She pushed it open; it creaked like it hadn’t been open for a very long time, and she drew a sharp breath.

It was completely empty.

Disappointed, Lydia went to close the door and check another room, but the moment she began to pull the door shut, she froze. Her nerves screamed at her to enter. She stepped over the threshold and memories that had never happened threatened to overwhelm her. She manage to focus on one of them, a conversation, and bring it into clarity. 

“You need to talk to her.”

Lydia didn’t know why she had said that out loud. She didn’t know to whom she was talking to or even what the words meant.

_Well, yeah,_ another voice answered her. It was the same voice she had heard at the lacrosse field when the riders had appeared. _That’s not as easy as you make it sound._

“You never had trouble talking to her before.” It was like she was reading from a script or prepping for a conversation she imagined she was going to have. 

_I never dumped her before._ Lydia saw clearly where there should be a desk chair, which she imagined being spun around by its occupant. _What exactly would I say to her?_

Lydia took a few steps across the room towards an empty space like the blocking in a play. “You could start by making sure she knows you still like her as a friend.”

_Do I really have to say that? Helping her against her mother doesn’t make that clear?_

“Stiles.” The name came easily off her lips. “When you’re close to someone, you don’t have to talk to them about what you’re feeling all the time. But sometimes, you absolutely do. Do you still want to be her friend?”

_Yes!_ In her mind’s eye, the chair stopped rotating. 

“Then you have to talk to her about what happened.”

The voice — Stiles’s voice — didn’t answer immediately, but in her mind’s eyes she saw the pout. She could almost see the face, the shape of the eyes, the way he wore his hair, even though she had never seen any of it before. 

“Why did you break up with her?”

_It’s not …_

Lydia walked over to an empty stretch of carpet as if she were approaching him. 

“Everyone had a rough time, and we all hurt each other.”

_You didn’t._

“I stood there and judged you and Scott and Malia and when I wasn’t doing that, I was chasing after Parrish. All of us are friends again, but if you don’t want what happened back then to happen again, you have to be brave. You have to tell me everything, even the things that make you look bad.”

As she spoke, ephemera coalesced. She could almost see a boy’s long fingers tapping on a should-be desk. 

_We were in her car. The Jeep had broken down after my fight with Scott. I called her to give me a lift to the station. I was going to tell my dad everything._

Lydia ran her tongue over her lips. She had been right.

_I said something stupid._

“Just one thing?”

_Ha. Ha. She said something about the Jeep and I told her … I basically accused her of not paying attention. But it turned out, she had figured out about Donovan. I …_

Lydia felt herself sitting on the bed but there was no bed for her to sit on. She was about to encourage Stiles to continue the way she must have done before when there was an incredibly loud noise from downstairs. Something had been smashed.

“Lydia!” Scott’s voice sounded panicked.

She was so close! She could remember everything. All she needed was just a little more time. 

“Lydia!” 

She tried to ignore the cries. “A little more time. I just need a little more time.” Yet there was something building up in the back of her throat, and she had read it enough to realize that she was getting ready to scream. 

There was another smashing sound from downstairs, but it echoed loudly. 

“Damn it.” She ran out of the room, the translucent visions evaporating like an early-morning daydream. She sprinted down the stairs to find Scott herded into a corner, Isaac blocked his body with his own. The front door had been reduced to so many splinters in the doorway and the coffee table in the living room was similarly wrecked.

“Isaac!”

“I don’t know what it is!” Isaac shouted. “I can’t see anything! I can’t smell anything!”

Lydia could. In the middle of the living room was a rider. Whispering in a language she couldn’t understand, the rider drew his pistol and pointed it at the werewolf. 

Lydia screamed, the sound echoing throughout the house and its occupants. Isaac and Scott clapped their hands to their ears. She felt as if that scream had lodged her heart in her throat. 

When Isaac pulled his ears away he squinted at the horseman. “What the fuck?”

“You can see him?”

She was answered when the horseman pulled the trigger on his pistol. Isaac had responded by throwing Scott out the front door and into the front yard. The human couldn’t resist and rolled side over side until he was in the street. The bullet struck the wall above Isaac’s right shoulder. Snarling, he rushed the rider leaping and pulled him off his horse.

They tumbled into the furniture. Sheriff Stilinski was going to need a new television to match his new coffee table.

Lydia left the stairs and stood in the doorway. Isaac was a whirlwind of claws, slashing at the rider, who spoke nary a word until he managed to throw the werewolf across the room. The rider’s pistol lay across the room, so it pulled a whip from its belt. The horse stomped over by the couch.

“Isaac, come on!” She shouted. 

“I can take him!” 

“We don’t even know if they can die!”

Before she could persuade him, the rider snapped the whip at Isaac and it struck him across the face. Blood spattered across the Stilinski house’s walls. Isaac cried out.

Looking back later, Lydia didn’t realize she had anything like this in her. She had never thought she was brave. She reached out and pulled Isaac by the sleeve, guiding him out the door. Scott had gotten up and came to help her.

“To the car,” Scott ordered. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Isaac had a nasty looking gash on his forehead and blood kept pouring into his eyes. They got to the car as lights began going on all across the street. Lydia slid into the car as Scott pulled and pushed Isaac into the back street. 

She looked back over the shoulder. The rider had retrieved his pistol and slung his whip. He had remounted and now rode out of the Stilinski house with his gun drawn. 

“Move, move, move!” She said, started the car, and pulled out while Scott’s and Isaac’s legs still dangled out the back door. 

In the rear view mirror, the horseman took after the car, gun at the ready, but it did not fire. It could have but it didn’t. She had the feeling that it wasn’t worried about hurting Scott or Isaac. This was twice that the horsemen could have hurt her and didn’t even pretend to consider it.

There had to be a connection between them.

Pouring on the speed, she lost the rider. While a horse was fast, it couldn’t match the speed of a Toyota Camry. 

“Scott, where should I go?”

“The clinic.” His voice was high pitched and stressed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Isaac.” Scott had taken off his shirt binding it around his boyfriend’s head. “He’s not healing the way he should.”

“Why?”

Scott looked up at her. “I don’t know. Keep driving.”

**~*~**

“Get the light, please,” Scott asked as he helped steer Isaac into the darkened animal clinic. His sleeveless white under-shirt was soaked with blood, though none of it was his own. Lydia couldn’t stop staring at the triskele tattoo on the upper part of his left arm; it seemed wrong to her. The long-sleeved black pullover he had been wearing when they started this adventure was wrapped around Isaac’s head.

Isaac’s skin was pale beneath the blood, so pale it almost glowed when Lydia turned on the light. Her anxiety kept growing.

“Why isn’t he healing?”

“I have no idea, but it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“There’s blood everywhere,” Lydia complained. “All over my car’s seats.”

“Well, I’m _sorry._ ” Isaac tried to sound snarky, but it came out too weak. His normal brash confidence had faded with the pallor of his skin and the amount of blood he had shed.

Scott had remained calm in the face of both of their reactions. “It’s a scalp wound. They bleed a lot due to how many blood vessels are close to the surface in the head.” He went over to a cabinet. “I’ve got to get some stuff. Lie down on the table, Isaac.”

“Are you going to use dog medicine on me?” Isaac asked. Even while looking a mess, he seemed alert enough to attempt to be sarcastic. Lydia had read about many things, but she hadn’t read much about first aid. Truth to be told, she was feeling a little woozy about all the blood herself.

“No. Though they certainly would do in a pinch” Scott smiled at him as he came back with an armful of supplies. “Deaton keeps some emergency supplies for humans … and near humans.”

“Good thinking.”

Scott got to work carefully cleaning the wound with sterile water. He seemed to know what he was doing.

“Deaton taught you first aid?”

Scott nodded. “I’m going to put some antiseptic in the wound and then apply an anesthetic, before I stitch it up.”

“Do you have to?”

“I don’t know why you’re not healing, so I’m going to treat it like I would a normal human’s wound. Werewolves can lose more blood than a human can and survive, but it’s still dangerous to lose so much.”

Lydia turned away as Scott got to work. She didn’t need to supervise, and she had a lot more information to process after their visit to the sheriff’s house. Despite Isaac’s wound, she felt vindicated; her instincts had turned out to be right.

“Stiles,” she said aloud.

“Hmmm?” Scott asked from where he was bent over Isaac. 

“Does the name Stiles mean anything to you?”

Scott’s forehead creased. “I don’t think so.”

“Funny name.” Isaac said and Scott hushed him.

“Try not to talk. It’ll make it harder for me to do the stitches right. Is the name important?”

“Yes.” Lydia nodded to herself as she stared at one of the cabinets, looking at her reflection in the glass. “It’s an anomaly.”

Scott adjusted the overhead light so he could get a clearer view of the wound. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen changes to a lot of people, but there’s an important difference when it comes to this Stiles. All the people in my visions and feelings were real … I mean, they exist here and now. For example, Liam and Jackson were werewolves. You were alpha.” She bit her tongue immediately. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone that. 

_“Me?”_

Isaac hummed but not in derision. He looked about to say something but Scott put a hand on his chest to keep him from moving. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry, but I didn’t think that telling you earlier would serve any purpose. In every vision in which I have seen have seen people changed, even if they were strangers to me, like Derek, they have existed in the real world, in one form or another. Except Stiles. Stiles doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t know that. You said you hadn’t met Derek before. It’s just possible you haven’t met Stiles in this world.”

“It’s possible, and so I’ll have to make sure, but I don’t think he does. That Stiles is connected to the sheriff in my visions, so much so that I had a whole conversation with him in the upstairs bedroom. But there was no indication that he exists in the Sheriff’s life. On the other hand, it’s impossible to prove a negative.” Lydia adjusted her hair, nervously.

Scott peered at his own handiwork. “I think it might be more important to figure out who those riders are.” He started sewing once again, being very careful. 

“Discovering who Stiles is … or is supposed to be is the key.” Lydia insisted. “Both times I encountered visions of him, the riders appeared to intervene. They didn’t want me to find out more about him.”

“And tried to kill us,” Isaac suggested. Scott hissed at him to stay still.

“Kill _you._ ” To keep her hands busy, Lydia got a medical waste basket and some towels to help Isaac clean up. “They never even tried to hurt me, when they could have. Even while we were being pursued, the rider didn’t fire.”

Scott looked up. “Not that I’m complaining, but does that mean they are connected to what you are? A banshee?”

“I don’t know.” 

“On the other hand, I do know.” Deaton walked into the back room like he had been there all along. He took off a heavy jacket and hung it on a coat rack along the wall. 

“How did you do that?” Scott asked. “There’s a bell on the front door, and even I would have heard the back door opening.”

“I have many talents. Good evening, Miss Martin, Mr. Lahey. I would say I hope you are well, but it seems that sentiment would be ill-timed.” The veterinarian walked over to the table and watched what Scott was doing. “Good work, Scott. The bleeding should stop.”

“I don’t even know why he’s bleeding!”

“The weapons of the Ghost Riders carry on them a form of supernatural energy which acts much like a poison. If he were human, Isaac would be in serious trouble right now.”

“Cool.” Isaac said sarcastically. “So I’m not in trouble now?”

“I’ll be able to prepare an antidote for the poison, which will take some time, so Scott’s work was still necessary.” Deaton explained. “Until then, you should take it easy and try not to get into any more fights.”

“Can’t promise anything.” Isaac struggled to sit up.

Lydia moved herself into the veterinarians view. “You said you know who the riders are.”

“I do. I had a suspicion when you sent the e-mail, but I visited a senior member of my order to make sure my suspicions were correct.”

“You couldn’t have said something beforehand?”

“No.” Deaton shook his head. “I’ve told you before. Knowledge is a two-edged sword. The only thing worse than not knowing what you’re going up against is having the wrong idea of what you’re going up against. You should never expect me to say something I’m not absolutely sure is true unless I have no other choice.”

“Fine.” Lydia crossed her arms. “I get it. So what do you know now?”

“The Wild Hunt has come to Beacon Hills.” Deaton disappeared into his office and returned with a book which he spread open where everyone could see it. “There are as many stories about the Hunt as there are cultures with which it has interacted: Norse, Germanic, Slavic, Celtic, among others.” 

Lydia leaned over the book. “It’s been classified as a folk-lore motif. E501.”

“It has been,” Deaton agreed. “But I assure you, like werewolves and banshees, the Hunt is quite real. They are an army of ghostly riders on phantom horses, attracted to war and death across the globe.”

Scott screwed up his face. “War is everywhere. Why would they be mostly known in Northern Europe?”

“That is where it was first created.” Deaton confirmed, rewarding Scott’s question with an approving nod. “But they aren’t bound by geography. The Hunt will be attracted to any site of sufficient supernatural bloodshed and turmoil.”

“Wow. I thought I was weird. How do you know that?”

It had become as obvious to Lydia as the sun would rise in the east. “Because they created it.”

Deaton turned to her, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did he deny it.

“Who is they?” Scott was confused.

“The Druids.” Lydia accused. “You created it. Are you going to tell us why?”

“Thousands of years ago, my order began to recognize that the world was changing. While different cultures had existed for a long time, including their own, humanity was beginning to develop a series of interconnecting relationships between settlements.”

“Nations.” Lydia concluded.

“The Shang Dynasty in China. Egypt. The Kingdom of Kush. The Babylonian Empire. The Greek City-States. Humanity had always outnumbered the so-called supernatural races before then, but what they lacked in numbers, the near-human races made up for in individual strength and ability. These ancient druids, however, came to an unfortunate consensus: this couldn’t last. Eventually, the near-human races would be — and there is no easy way to say this — enslaved by the power of these nations. Their abilities would be harnessed to deleterious effect. It had already happened in Atlantis. We were allies to both humanity and these other races, so we decided to act. Over generations, we pondered a way to keep this from happening.”

“To maintain the Balance.” Scott muttered. 

“Exactly. We believed that the key to doing that was secrecy. If the so-called supernatural races were concealed on the periphery of human civilization, they would be able to live fulfilling lives without constant war and death. However, there would always be incidents, always be accidents, so there was always the danger that the truth could be found by those unable to use it wisely or with good intent. After much debate, we used our knowledge to create an army based in another dimension, a dimension that was coterminous with ours.”

“Dimensions?” Isaac blinked at the revelation.

“It’s scientifically possible that dimensions exist in relation to ours which we can’t sense,” Lydia dismissed his wonder. “It’s quite fascinating, but not the point right now.”

“We created the Wild Hunt. The Ghost Riders. They would be drawn to instances of supernatural mayhem and conflict and if the danger of exposure became too great, they would … eliminate the problem.”

“What do you mean by eliminate?”

“They would act in a manner to protect the secret of the existence of the supernatural from discovery by humanity.”

Scott seemed outraged. “So your order created an army of undead that will kill people to keep secrets? If it was so important to these ancient druids, why not take the task on themselves? Why not find a way to work with humanity and the supernatural to keep everyone safe?”

“The decision was made that an impartial force was needed to protect everyone. Druids are human, too. We can love and hate and be prejudiced and be lazy. Instead, we created a force of nature, impartial and implacable, to do what needed to be done.” 

“You changed our lives.” Lydia felt the blood freeze in her veins. 

“I did not. The Wild Hunt did. I was not alive over two thousand years ago. I do not know whether I would have supported the decision or not, but that is irrelevant now. The Wild Hunt exists, and as far as I know it cannot be stopped.”

“That doesn’t explain why I can sense the changes, and why the Ghost Riders seem unwilling to harm me.”

“No, it doesn’t, but I don’t think it will take you too long to figure out exactly why that happens. It might help if you consider that the Ghost Riders are the souls of the dead tasked to a singular purpose. They sense the death and destruction caused by the supernatural and they have the means to decide whether the threat of exposure to humanity has become too great.”

Isaac snorted. “That sounds exactly like what you do, Lydia.”

Lydia had already come to that conclusion. She tilted her head as she looked at Deaton. “What’s my connection?”

“The ancient Druids possessed the knowledge to design this army, but they didn’t have the ability to make it happen. To do so, they turned to a powerful ally.”

“A banshee.”

“Not just any banshee. She might possibly be the first, the woman whose blood runs in your veins and the veins of every other banshee there ever was. She brought the Wild Hunt into existence. They recognize her power in you.”

“Did she have a name?”

“She was called The Morrigan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head canon galore!


	5. Signals Intelligence

“Are you all right?” Tracy Stewart asked her during the prom committee meeting.

Lydia looked up from the blank page of her notebook. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Tracy’s voice was uncharacteristically firm. “I don’t think you are.”

“Not to sound defensive or anything, but what would you know about my mental state?”

“The last few days you’ve been spacing out.” Tracy insisted. “You don’t talk in class. You don’t talk out of class. Everyone’s noticed. I’m not the only one who’s noticed, I’m just the only one who’s said anything.”

Lydia couldn’t deny the facts. Since Deaton’s revelations about the presence of the Wild Hunt in Beacon Hills, she had spent the last few days working out all the angles.

If her visions were real and the Wild Hunt had acted to keep the presence of the supernatural a secret in Beacon Hills, it made sense that she would be aware on some level of what they had done because the Hunt had been forged by a power she shared with her ancestor. Was she content to leave it at that? Deaton had informed her that visions would fade over time.

If she decided that she simply couldn’t be patient, the next questions she had to answer would be _what events had occurred that might reveal the supernatural to humanity to such a level that the Hunt would intervene?_ and _what those events had to do with the mysterious Stiles?_

She discovered after only a day that she couldn’t be patient and let things go. There was an intellectual element to her refusal. The mystery of how the Wild Hunt had accomplished this change on the world thrilled her on a fundamental level. Was it wholesale reality shifting? Time travel? Mass hypnosis? She burned with curiosity about this amazing event.

The revelation about her nature as a banshee had not only put an end to her days of hiding behind a vapid mask, but she had also found that she felt better than she had in a long time. She was frightened, and she didn’t like that, but she also felt exhilarated. Even the prom seemed unimportant.

To be completely honest, there was also an emotional element to it as well. She didn’t know why this Stiles was so important to her specifically, but she couldn’t let the mystery of his identity go. She just _couldn’t._

“Thank you for noticing.”

Tracy blushed. “I mean it, is there anything I can do to help? I won’t judge.” 

“I’m just going through a few things. Difficult things. It could make me seem a little strange.”

“I know the feeling.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

“I get … night terrors.” Tracy shrugged. “Not as much as I once did, but every once in a while it happens. It’s not fun.”

“Well, it’s nothing like …” She stopped, correcting herself. Being aware of another possible reality and knowing this one was manufactured was very much like the consequences of a night terror — fear generated when you didn’t know what was real or not. “Sorry. I’ve been so used to pretending that everything was all right that it’s become reflex by now.”

“I understand.” Tracy smiled at her. “Just let me know if I there is something I can do.”

Lydia took one of her hands. “Thank you. I mean it. You’re a good friend.”

Both of them turned back to the task at hand. Lydia pushed all thoughts of the Wild Hunt away and started to really work on the South Seas Getaway. Jackson had already promised to ask his father to help him rent the country club for the prom. Some students from Devenford had announced — very smugly — that they were going to be using the conference-slash-ballroom at the Beacon Arms, the swankiest hotel downtown for theirs.

Jackson tended to take things like that as a challenge. It’s why they got along so well.

Susan was giving her pitch on a white board. “Imagine it. We have islands all over the room. One will be for drinks, one for food, one for voting for King and Queen, one for photographs. Each table will represent a ship. We’ll hang paper flowers as big as basketballs.”

“That’s a lot of work.” 

“Yes, it will be.” Susan was excited. “But Lydia, you wanted this to be memorable. Anything memorable requires work.” Her eyes left Lydia’s face and focused behind her. She got her flirt on. “Well, _hello,_ Vernon.” 

Everyone turned to find that Boyd had appeared behind them. Susan had talked about how Boyd had gotten hot since freshman year, and Lydia now had inside information on how that happened. He had also become far less invisible. The debate team had placed at state, and Lydia, with only a little bit of digging, had found he was a ranked player in the United States Chess Association in Northern California.

“Susan.” He nodded to everyone else. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“We were just planning for the prom.”

“Cool.” He tried to sound interested, but he completely failed. “Could I borrow Lydia for a moment?”

Once he had received permission, Boyd led Lydia into the hallway outside the gymnasium in front of the trophy cases. She didn’t feel at all scared of him, even though she knew what he was. 

“What can I do for you?”

“Derek would like you to come over to the Hale House today, if you can make it, to talk about the Hunt.”

“So Isaac told all of you?”

“Isaac and Scott.” Boyd admitted. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe them at first, but then I remember that I’m not human anymore, either.”

“I’ll have to call my mother to see if I can stop by, but I can’t really tell Derek anything that Deaton couldn’t.”

“He’s already talked to Doc. What Derek wants to talk about tonight is what happens next.”

Lydia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He wants to know what you intend, if anything, to do about it.”

Straightening her back. “And what if I don’t know what I’m going to do about it?”

Boyd raised both hands to placate her. “Look, no decision has been made yet. All he’s asked is for you to visit so he can talk to you about it. It isn’t a command or a summons, but, on the other hand, it his business. You have to admit the safety of his pack is involved.”

“I see.” 

“Derek’s learned a lot.” Boyd brought his hands down to sides. “And the biggest thing he’s learned is how to talk to people and how to listen to them. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

**~*~**

The Hale House that stood in the Preserve was not the Hale House in which Derek had grown up. The original had burned down in 2005 at the hands of Allison’s aunt, Kate Argent, in what had been described in the newspapers as an act of madness. Recent revelations had made it clear to Lydia that it hadn’t been madness: it had been simple evil. Kate had gone against human decency, the laws of civilization, and her family’s own Code to kill innocent werewolves, humans, and children alike. During their phone call, Allison’s voice had cracked when she talked about it. Her friend had vowed to her that once she was Matriarch, she would never allow such a thing to happen again.

It was an easy thing to promise, but it would be much harder to guarantee, though Lydia hadn’t said that out loud. Obviously, her friend needed to believe that she could make a difference in the world. Who was Lydia to scoff at it?

She respected Allison’s convictions, but Lydia didn’t share that same mindset. It was entirely possible that if forced into a difficult position, she might not make the most moral decision. Honestly, she was afraid that this trip to visit Derek and his pack might include an opportunity to find herself in such a difficult position.

Derek Hale had had the old Hale House demolished and the grounds cleared, down to the old tunnels which had used to be hidden below the foundations. He had replaced the entire complex with a memorial garden. Located at the end of the original cul de sac within the Preserve, it was an extravagance unlikely to ever be seen by anyone. On the other hand, if he had inherited all of his family’s wealth he could certainly afford it.

The new Hale House had been built a few hundred feet away from the garden, on the other side of a hill. To the casual eye, it could easily have been mistaken for a copy of the original, but there were noticeable changes in the new construction for those who were familiar with the old house. The windows were larger and located everywhere in order to give a clear view of the surroundings, even on sides that would catch the wind or the sun at inopportune times. Trees had been cut down much farther from the house, leaving an open yard where it would be difficult to hide, especially from werewolves. 

She parked in the driveway, a few feet from a large garage which stood on the edge of the property. A light burned in the upper floor of the garage, which was probably big enough to be someone’s apartment. Considering the size of the house and the nature of a werewolf pack, it confused her until she realized that it would make sure at least one person slept outside of the house but near enough to intervene. 

It was sad, she supposed, but understandable. He had his home back, and he had taken precautions so it could never be taken from him again.

The lawn was well kept, even for this time of the year. The leaves had been raked, so her way to the house on polished natural-stone steps was easy and clear. Classy. So classy that it almost made Lydia miss the security cameras.

When she knocked on the door, Boyd answered as if he had been waiting for her. He stood there framed by the interior lights of the foyer. “I’m glad you came.”

“To be honest, I almost didn’t.”

Boyd gestured for her to come inside. “Why not? You didn’t seem scared of us before.”

“I can’t possibly imagine that this conversation is going to be pleasant for anyone.” 

Like a gentleman, he closed the door behind her. “I think it’s a little early to say that.”

“Call it a hunch then.”

“All right.” He smiled. “We’re in the parlor.”

She smiled. “Parlor?”

“It’s not really a living room.” He shrugged. “No one is ever going to hang out in there and watch television. Mostly because it doesn’t have one.”

Boyd was completely correct. No child would ever want to relax in a room that looked like it had materialized out of Better Homes and Gardens. It did have a working fireplace, which was roaring merrily. When they entered, Derek was expertly using a poker to stir it up, like he was a father from a 1950s situation comedy. With an easy motion, he stood up and put it in its rack at the same time. 

“This is a nice place.”

“Thank you.” He gestured for her to sit down. He was wearing a bulky maroon sweater, with one arm pinned up. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m good. Thank you for asking.”

Lydia sat down on the middle of the couch. Boyd took one of the armchairs. Derek didn’t sit down; instead, he stood near the fireplace. She recognized the maneuver from when her father had attempted it. He was trying to cover his discomfort with the whole situation by appearing in charge. Unlike her dad, Derek managed to pull it off. 

“Where is everyone else?”

“I think that Isaac’s in his room; he lives over the garage. Erica had something to do with her parents.” Derek explained. 

“What about Scott?”

One of Derek’s eyebrows lifted a centimeter. “I think he’s home, working on a paper. You like him a lot, don’t you?”

“It’s not that.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. Your visions portrayed him as an alpha.”

“So Isaac told you that.”

“Isaac tells me everything. I’ve earned his trust over the years.” Derek looked her right in the eye. “I had a lot to learn when I first started out, especially about expecting supernatural connection as a shortcut to establishing real bonds.”

Lydia tilted her head to the side. “You’re right. Supernatural intuition isn’t enough to create trust. But in the time I’ve spent over the last week or so, I’ve come to trust him quite a bit. More than I trust you. No offense.”

“None taken. If you’re more comfortable with Scott, I can call him up and see if he can come over. But whatever your visions may have told you, his resources are limited.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Lydia shook her head. “You wanted to talk to me, so you should set the agenda.” 

“This is really fascinating,” Boyd added. “I wish I had made some popcorn.”

Derek rolled his eyes at his beta. “Let’s talk about the Wild Hunt.”

“As I told Boyd, Deaton probably knows more about it than I do.”

“He does.” Derek’s brows momentarily came together in suspicion and then, with an effort, smoothed out. “And I’ve talked to him. We both agree that the Ghost Riders must have changed something, yet Deaton is uninterested in what could have been changed.”

Lydia realized, with a little surprise, that this had been true. The veterinarian, even as he talked about the Hunt, had not asked one question about her visions. “Why do you think he doesn’t?”

“I asked him. He admitted as much.” 

Boyd laughed. “Another trick Derek’s learned. How to ask questions.”

“I don’t know why I have you come to these meetings, Boyd. I really don’t.”

“Because you like it when I call you out on stuff. It makes you feel like someone’s paying attention.”

“I want to know what you can tell me about what you’ve seen, and I want to work out what we can from them, Lydia.” Derek ignored Boyd’s mirth. “From what we’ve learned so far, the Wild Hunt doesn’t appear without a reason. Something drew them here.”

“Obviously, people were werewolves in that other reality that aren’t now: Scott, my boyfriend Jackson, and another player on the team, Liam Dunbar.”

“All lacrosse players.” 

“I didn’t play lacrosse, but Isaac did.” Boyd added.

“I was different as well, but I can’t really explain how.” She shrugged. 

“Would you be willing …” Derek started and then trailed off.

“Would I be willing to what?”

“There are rituals we can do to perhaps clarify your visions. Some of them are more dangerous than others. If I can work out one that might help, would you be willing to endure it?”

“Maybe.” Lydia bit her lip. “Tell me why finding out what changed is important to you.”

“I told you that my pack protects Beacon Hills, in the same way my family used to do so. If something happened that caused the Wild Hunt to come here, I need to know what it was.”

“But they fixed it.”

Sadness crept into Derek’s voice. “My uncle used to tell me that it’s never just one thing that goes wrong. It’s always a confluence of events. Even if the Riders took care of the problem, the foundation of what happened could still exist. I can’t … I’m not content to wait if there is a chance that something similar — or something worse — happens because I didn’t look harder. I’ve done that before.”

“Done what?”

“Taken things for granted, trusted people and events that I shouldn’t have, and other people have paid the price for it. I won’t do it again.”

“Okay.” Lydia agreed, but it hadn’t been hard to convince her. She had been determined to find the truth for herself ever since she had realized that the visions meant something. “I will want to know everything about these rituals before I agree to them, and I’ll want input on which one we’ll choose. If I figure out you’re holding something back from me, though, we’re through, and I’ll puzzle this out on my own.”

“I promise, Lydia. Nothing will be kept from you.”

“Then let’s get to work.”

**~*~**

When Lydia got home, she had planned to eat a light dinner and then go up into her room and study for a bit before cracking open the book on banshees that Deaton had loaned her. As frustrating arcane as that book could be, she felt like she had made some progress.

Yet all progress stopped when she found her mother and the sheriff waiting for her in the living room.

“Lydia, would you come here please?”

“Of course, Mom.” She decided that her best course of action would be to pretend to innocence. 

“This is Sheriff Stilinski. He has some questions he’d like to ask you.”

“Oh, hello, Sheriff. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“No. It’s your house.”

Lydia settled herself down on the couch. Then she waited. 

When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to start the conversation, the Sheriff sighed and began. “Lydia, have you been spending time around Isaac Lahey?”

“That’s an odd question. We go to the same school, so I pretty much have to spend some time around him.”

“I mean, have you spent time with him outside of school?”

“I suppose so. He is a senior on the lacrosse team, so I do run into him a lot. I’m not sure if you would count that as ‘spending time.’”

Natalie chuffed. “Lydia, just answer the sheriff. Don’t be impertinent.”

“I’m not, Mother, I’m simply trying to make his fishing trip interesting. If I answer the questions he wants to ask me but doesn’t want to ask me directly, it’ll get boring for him real quick.”

Both of the adults looked displeased at that. 

“You might know that my house was broken into the night before last.”

Lydia didn’t answer and they both stared at her. “Was that a question?” 

“No.” Her mother might be unused to this type of evasion, but the sheriff certainly was not. “It was a statement. My house was broken into the night before last.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Yes.”

The sheriff gritted his teeth. “What do you know?”

“Well, that your house was broken into the night before last.”

“Lydia!” Natalie exclaimed. 

Lydia didn’t respond, signaling her disinterest with a bland look on her face.

“I came home to find my front door broken in and my living room wrecked.”

“Well, I can assure you, Sheriff, I didn’t damage your furniture.”

Lydia wasn’t sure how far she could push this. She wanted her mother and Stilinski so upset with her that they couldn’t think things through, but not upset enough to block her from what she had to do.

Her mother looked like she had reached that point, but the sheriff had not yet reacted. Lydia readied herself for his next tactic.

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’m not sure who did. But I did find blood on the wall of my foyer, and it matches the blood sample I have for Isaac Lahey.”

Lydia frowned. “Why would you possibly have a blood sample from him?”

“There was a complaint made about his father.” The sheriff frowned. “I couldn’t make anything stick.”

“Child abuse can be hard to prove if no one cares,” Lydia said sharply. Jackson had told her that he had witnessed Coach Lahey beat the shit out of Isaac. She had pushed him into leaving that particular anonymous tip.

“Was that what this about? Revenge for my being unable to help him?”

“I don’t know why someone would break your furniture.” Not a lie. No need for that yet. “I also don’t know why you think I had anything to do with it.”

“Your boyfriend mistakenly revealed himself when he made the call, and both your boyfriend and Isaac are seniors on the lacrosse team. A car matching the description of yours was seen driving away from my house.”

“A silver Toyota? In Beacon Hills, everyone drives a Toyota. It’s a very popular car.”

“So you won’t mind if I take a look in it to see if I can find Isaac Lahey’s blood.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Lydia smiled. “You can’t.”

“Your mother is right here.”

“First, my mother insisted that the car be put in my name, so I would be responsible for the insurance, the gas, and the repairs. Which I am. Given the fact that I am, indeed, over eighteen, that makes it my car. Do you have a warrant?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t look in my car. I explicitly and in front of witnesses refuse to give you permission to search my car. You could site probable cause if you think that a crime is in the process of being committed. Do you?”

The Sheriff didn’t answer. Lydia smirked.

“I didn’t think so.”

Natalie intervened. “Lydia, it looks suspicious if you don’t …”

“Mom, I’m a citizen of the United States. I pay taxes. That means that the Sheriff works for me. I don’t work for him. If he wants to search my car, he can go … Get. A. Warrant.”

Her mother set her jaw. “He can search your room. This is my house.”

“If you give him permission, mother, certainly.” She gave her best bored face. 

“I need a drink.” Natalie left the room in a huff.

“Why are you making this so difficult, Lydia?” The sheriff asked.

“Because you tried to trick me. You didn’t ask me what you wanted to know. You tried to walk me into admitting something so you could use it as leverage. That’s what you do to criminals. If you treat me like a criminal, how am I supposed to act?”

“Do you know who broke into my house?”

“Yes. Do you know someone named Stiles?” She countered.

The sheriff’s face went through a series of changes as she watched. First surprise, then confusion, then realization. “So this _is_ about Coach Lahey.”

Lydia blinked, stunned. She hadn’t expected him to draw that conclusion. “Sheriff …”

He raised her finger into his face. “No, now you listen. The law is the law, Lydia. Do you think I wasn’t absolutely sure in my gut that Coach Lahey was beating Isaac? That he hadn’t been beating him for years? I don’t know how you kids found out about my father and how he treated me, but it doesn’t matter. This badge doesn’t mean I can do as I like. I didn’t have any eyewitness testimony. I didn’t have any evidence for which Mr. Lahey didn’t have a reasonable explanation.” 

Lydia thought about telling him right then and there, but it wasn’t just her secret to tell. She would have to reveal the werewolf pack and her own abilities as a banshee to the county sheriff. A county sheriff, by the way, who was convinced she had vandalized his house. She kept her moouth shut. 

“Whatever you and your friends might think of me, I do my best to protect the people in this county. Including you.”

“I’m afraid I just can’t take your word for that, Sheriff.” Lydia shook her said sadly. “So, unless there’s anything else, I have studying to do.”

“No. Good night, Miss Martin.” The sheriff took his leave.

Lydia watched him go and then, with a sigh, went to go find her mother. Natalie was sitting in Lydia’s room and on her bed, a box next to her and a glass of wine in your hand. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I want to make sure you are all right. You’re my daughter, and I’m worried about you.” She put her glass on the end table. 

“I’m fine. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not going on a crime spree.”

“The sheriff’s house—”

“I didn’t damage the sheriff’s house, neither did any of my friends. Can you trust me a little, Mom?”

Natalie sighed. “I do trust you. I do. But you can’t blame me for asking.”

“I don’t.” She didn’t, not really. “What’s in the box?”

“This is your last semester of school, and then you’re going to leave me.” Natalie held up your hand. “You are. All children do eventually. So I was thinking of all the things I had to look forward to, and I thought about prom. I loved mine. It was magical. But this reminded me of something your grandmother asked me to do.”

Lydia was suddenly interested. “What?” 

“She said she wanted you to have this when it came time for your prom. I know it’s in a couple of months, but I thought … well, anyway, here it is.”

The box was tied with twine, but Lydia had a pair of scissors in a drawer and cut it open. 

“So much … tulle.” Lydia said, looking at the dress inside. 

“Try it on.” Natalie encouraged.

“I don’t think so.” She pulled the dress out of the box, and something fell out of it. It was an envelope. She laid the dress carefully to the side and picked it up. Her given name was written on the cover.

“That’s sweet. What did Lorraine tell you?”

Lydia opened up the note. “Ariel. You must not be afraid to scream for help. 39-46-25 121-39-09.”

Natalie’s face folded in on itself. No doubt, she thought that the message was some product of whatever illness had befallen Lorraine. Lydia knew better. This was a message.

“I’m sure that she meant that she loved you,” her mother assured her.

“I know that.” Lydia said. “But it means more than that. These are coordinates.” 

**~*~**

“I have to agree to with you.” Deaton examined the message. 

“Is the location in the Preserve?” Derek asked, craning his neck to look over her shoulder.

“No. I can double check, but I think it’s on the opposite side of Beacon Hills.” Deaton handed the card back to Lydia. “I can’t possibly tell you what it means, but if your grandmother was a banshee as you are, then I would not ignore it.”

“I don’t intend to,” Lydia assured him, sliding the card into her purse. “But I promised Derek that once he got a ritual set up, I would participate, so this will have to wait.”

She studied Deaton’s face, but it was neutral. Deliberately neutral. The veterinarian might be uninterested in finding the truth behind her visions, but he wasn’t going to obstruct her from doing so.

“I wouldn’t describe it as an occult ritual, Miss Martin,” Deaton answered. “It’s more a form of hypnosis.”

Derek frowned slightly. He wasn’t a hard sciences type of guy. The three of them turned to where Scott was finishing setting things up. It wasn’t complex, just a chair, a table, and a candle. 

“A form of hypnosis? Not just hypnosis?”

“The goal of hypnosis is to put the target into a different state of consciousness where they are less aware of peripheral sensory information and more focused on a single sensation. This state can sometimes make the target open to suggestions. We want to do something slightly different; we want you to focus on your supernatural hearing to the exclusion of your normal senses.”

“You’re trying to remove the distractions.”

“Your scream does that naturally when predicting events of great importance by drowning out background noise, but it’s almost always a reaction. We want to trigger it on purpose.”

Lydia knowledge. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Derek takes in a deep breath. “Except …”

“Except,” Deaton admitted, “I’ve never done anything like this before. There is a risk.”

She looked around at the three men with her. “Tell me.”

“You can sense things no one else can sense. From what I’ve been able to tell, this power transcends time as well as space. It’s limited by your emotional connection to the target and your own sensitivity to the vibration. The danger I fear is that if we place you into this different state of awareness, it may no longer be limited.”

“I could sense everything. Everywhere. Everywhen.”

“Yes, Lydia. It might overwhelm you, so much that you could get trapped in that state.” Deaton held up a syringe. “In this I have a tranquilizer that will render you unconscious if I inject it. If we manage to put you into a state of hyper-awareness, I will bring you out of it in five minutes, no matter what else happens. If I cannot do that through my voice, I will inject you with this. Do I have your permission to do so?”

Lydia thought about it for a moment. They seemed like wise precautions. “Yes.”

“Good. Please sit down. I’ll ask you two to be quiet. If she’s paying attention to other people, this won’t work.”

Scott and Derek nodded and backed off as quietly as they could and out of her vision range. At Deaton’s signal, Scott killed the lights. She sat down and studied the lit candle. It had a powerful scent along with it. She opened her mouth to speak, but Deaton shook his head.

“I want you to focus on the candle, Lydia. How the flame burns.” Deaton’s voice was soothing. He kept the words short and simple. “I want you to think of some vision you’ve seen before. Focus on it. Concentrate on it.”

She chose Stiles. He was key; she was sure of it. The flame danced for what seemed like hours. She wasn’t sure the hypnosis was working, even as Deaton’s voice soothed in the background. Eventually, she got up and walked over to where Scott and Derek were staring at her. But when Lydia turned around, she saw herself still sitting in the chair, facing the other way.

“Fascinating.” She noted her mouth didn’t move when she said that nor did any of the men in the room hear her. Was it astral projection? She had theorized on her own that astral projection wasn’t actually her soul leaving her body, just her point of view shifting. It felt good to be right.

“Now to find Stiles.” Everything felt like a dream, so she closed her eyes, thinking of his voice and what she had seen of his face and form.

She walked out the doorway and into the front of the animal clinic, but she was no longer there. She was in a deserted building, made of stone. It took her a moment, but it looked like a train station.

“What the hell?” She asked out loud.

There was a clatter from elsewhere, as if someone had dropped something on the floor. “Lydia?”

She knew that voice. She recognized it. “Stiles?”

He came running out of a room. He looked wild and haggard. And pale. “Lydia!” He didn’t stop until he had taken her into his arm. Lydia was shocked by this. Had they been together? It didn’t feel wrong, but she still pushed him away. “How are you here?”

“I was looking for you.” Her voice sounded awkward to her own ears.

“They took me, like I said they were going to. Did you find a way to remember me?”

“Uh.” Lydia stuttered. “Obviously.”

“You don’t remember who I am, do you?” Stiles face fell. “They did it. They erased me.” He paused. “Oh, god. Did they take you, too?”

“No. I saw things. I heard things. They led me to you, but …” There was no time to be coy. “I don’t know who you are.”

The news hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. “No one does. Not my dad. Not Scott.”

Lydia shook her head quickly. The hurt on his face hurt her to, more than she thought it should. 

“Okay.” Stiles shook it off. “Okay. Then we don’t have much time. I don’t know how you got here, but you have to remember something. Canaan. You have to go to Canaan. And you have to get out of here before he comes back.”

“Who comes back?”

“Herne.” Stiles looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know how you got here, but all I’ve been able to figure out is that this has happened before. It happened in Canaan.” 

“Why would I …?”

“Nothing ever goes away completely. Herne said that. Which means that something is in Canaan. It’s the only thing I have for you.” He smiles at her. “It’s good to see you. It’s felt like years.”

She reached out to touch him but the room blurred. “Wait.” She could hear Deaton’s voice calling her back. “Wait. Wait!”

But it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herne or Herne the Hunter is depicted in several mythologies as The Master of the Wild Hunt.


	6. Abandoned

“There’s nothing here.” Erica complained, standing by the edge of the lonely road. “Farm land and dirt, as far as the eye can see.”

“I need to thank you for coming with me, Erica,” Lydia announced in her best deadpan manner. She was frustrated too, but it had only been a half hour of searching. Obviously, patience wasn’t the female werewolf’s strong point. “Your positive and enthusiastic attitude makes this investigation into anything but a burden.”

Scott opened his mouth to try to diffuse the situation, but both of the women glared at him so he very wisely fell silent.

Fallow fields stretched in every direction from their vantage point, near the borders of Glenn County and Colusa County. Lydia wasn’t sure, but Delevan was probably the nearest town, a bustling metropolis of seventy people. Part of her frustration came from the fact that Lydia didn’t know what to do now that they had arrived. She didn’t have anything else to go on but the general location of where Canaan was supposed to be. 

“It’s a ghost town, Erica. That’s all I could find on the Internet. They didn’t even have photographs, so I don’t expect there to be a welcome sign.”

Erica stared off down the road, looking at the horizon. She didn’t say anything, but her body language clearly broadcast her impatience.

“So say what you’re going to say and get it off your chest.” 

“Hey. We just got here,” Scott interrupted, trying to be soothing. “We’ve got hours and we’ll still be able to get home for dinner and do something fun. Let’s just take a moment—”

“I’m going to knock on that door.” Erica took off walking towards the nearest farmhouse about a quarter of a mile down the road.

“We could drive there?” Scott called out.

The werewolf shook her head in response and kept on walking. Scott and Lydia watched her leave. She was going to make quite an impression on that farm family in her leather boots and jacket and her maroon corset top. 

“She’s not afraid of anything, is she?” 

“No.” Scott smiled. “Derek may have used the worst possible approach when recruiting her, but she’s … she’s really become something else.”

Lydia started to pace. “It was real, Scott. He was real.”

“I believe you.”

“Erica doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.” Scott snagged her arm as she tried to pace around him. “She’s not good at waiting.”

“Hmmm?”

“You know she used to have epilepsy. She had to take this medicine, and it had all sorts of terrible side effects, and even if she did take it there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t have a seizure anyway. Her whole life was spent waiting for the next attack. I understand how she felt, probably better than anyone else.” Scott sounded wistful. “It’s the same way with my asthma. There are certain stressors that might trigger an attack, but you never really know when one of them is going to happen. You’re always waiting.”

Lydia studied him carefully as he stopped talking and went to lean against the car. He noticed her stare.

“I’m not going to ask for the Bite.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” He sighed. “I know in this other world you saw me as an alpha, but I don’t want to be that.”

She harrumphed. “You may not be a leader in the same way Derek is a leader, but you do guide others. The pack looks to you for advice, even if your training as an Emissary isn’t finished.”

“I suppose so. I guess I don’t want to be someone who runs training sessions and enforces discipline. I want them to be able to ask me for help and advice without feeling I’m going to approve or disapprove. I want to be like Doc.” 

Lydia couldn’t keep the frown of her face. 

“You think he’s not telling you something, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I think so, too. But I also know that if he’s not telling you something, it’s not out of self-interest. It’s because he’s trying to protect you and he thinks if you know, you might do something that could end up hurting you.”

“He doesn’t get to make that decision.”

Scott shrugged. “I think he does if the knowledge is something that he’s been entrusted with after years of study. Knowing something is different understanding it. We did talk about you. He made an observation that with which I have to agree. You don’t like to imagine yourself not in control of a situation.”

“That’s bloody obvious to anyone who’s been in the same room with me for more than ten minutes.” She looked him straight in the eyes, and he looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t look away. “You think I’m not aware of my own nature?”

“As I said, we talked, and do you want to know what he told me? What he warned me about people like you?”

Lydia crossed her arms. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.” 

“He said that there are some people who can’t accept that there are things outside of their control, so they end up being haunted by their decisions — both the bad ones and the good ones — for the rest of their lives.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, if I ever get to the point where I can make an informed decision. Right now, I’ll be satisfied if I manage to unravel this mystery.”

Instead of listening to him anymore, she pulled the map out of the area and spread it out on the hood. Scott joined her in trying to figure out where the most likely location for the ghost town was while waiting for Erica to get back.

It took the werewolf twenty minutes from the time she left to the time she got back. 

“Where have you been, eating one of the farmer’s sheep?”

Erica smiled widely. “For your information, Lydia, I was getting directions to Canaan. I did have a glass of cider with an older gentleman who thinks that modern women are really keen.” She winked at Scott.

Lydia sighed. She hated when she had to apologize. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Erica stepped up to the map and pointed to a location. “It’s there. He said it was very hard to find.”

“I thought it would be on some sort of road, not in the middle of a field.”

“It _was_ a road, a long time ago: a dirt track. Mr. Parsons said it’s almost completely overgrown, but he told me how to find it. Local teens go there on Halloween as a thing.”

Lydia chuckled, but Scott looked melancholy. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It sounds fun. Or, it would have sounded fun three years ago. I swear you guys act like we’re not teenagers and we are.” He shrugged. “Let’s find this place.”

The track wasn’t hard to find. Farmer Parson had explained that they needed to find a home on County Road D that looked like a dilapidated farmhouse but didn’t have any barn. There would be a rusted mailbox in front of it, with no name and no number. Directly across from it was the entrance to the overgrown track. If they followed it into a copse of black oak and gray pine, it would dip into a depression and you would be able to see the three ruined buildings that made up what was once Canaan.

Lydia parked her car across the street from the place. She had thought about driving down the track, but her Toyota wasn’t made for it. “If only we had …”

“What?” Erica asked, opening the door. 

With a shake of her head, Lydia refocused from wherever she had drifted off. “A four-wheel drive vehicle, like a Jeep. So instead we’ve got to hike.”

“Do women not own tennis shoes?” Scott joked.

“Not women like us,” Erica shot back. “Women of fashion.”

Lydia smiled at Erica. “She’s right, and when she’s right, she’s right. It doesn’t look particularly muddy.” 

From over her shoulder, Lydia thought she saw a curtain in the run-down house on the other side of the road move. Someone thoroughly unfortunate must live there. If the police were called on them for trespassing, they would deal with it somehow.

It only took them a few minutes to walk that track and find buildings in a serious state of disrepair. Local youths had set some fires and sprayed some graffiti. The three of them looked around, and the ghost town seemed to be normal abandoned buildings.

Lydia swallowed down something sour. “Do you feel … anything?”

Scott shook his head. Erica drew her mouth out into a thin line.

“Erica?”

“I don’t really feel anything, but this place … I don’t like the way it smells. It doesn’t … it doesn’t smell like it should.”

“What do you mean?”

“Derek’s taught us how to pick up scent and one of the things he’s stressed is how to notice when something stands out against the background scent of any location or person. Every person, place and thing has a sort of baseline scent. What you need to look for is what doesn’t belong.”

“Okay. What doesn’t belong?”

Erica bit her lip. “I’m not sure but if I had to say something, I’d say … nothing belongs here.”

“What does that mean?” Lydia looked around, except she knew what Erica meant on a subconscious level. This place wasn’t right, in the same way that Stiles’s absence wasn’t right.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m glad I don’t have banshee intuition or supernatural senses, right now, because this place is creepy enough as it is.” Scott grimaced. “But let’s see if we can find something more concrete.”

The buildings were so run down that Lydia couldn’t tell which one had actually been the post office. They contained garbage and detritus and the signs of teenage rebellion, but no furniture. They were relics of the past. If Lydia had to guess — and she was by no means an expert in architecture — she would say the buildings were fifty to sixty years old. She had brought a flash-light, but with the weather-formed holes in the roof, she barely needed them.

She emerged from the building and clicked off the light. Scott was still in the other but Erica had already emerged with a faintly sour look on her face. 

“Still freaking you out?”

“Yeah.” Erica looked around. “But I don’t think it’s dangerous.”

“It’s frustrating. Stiles gave me this lead, but I don’t know what to make of it.”

The werewolf turned around, probably to hide her disbelief.

“He is real.” Lydia couldn’t tell if she didn’t like the implication that Stiles wasn’t real or the implication that she was mistaken.

“I believe you.” Erica turned around. “I’m absolutely sure you saw something, but I’m not sure you can trust what you saw. You didn’t even know you were a banshee two weeks ago, and now you’re trusting someone who you met in an otherworldly train station?”

Lydia frowned but she couldn’t refute it.

“The Wild Hunt is real, but we’ve been working from the assumption that you were able to sense what they were doing because of your connection to them, but I think we have to remember that connections go both ways.” Erica reasoned. “I’m just saying from experience. My bond with Derek goes both ways.”

“So you’re saying that I’m being used? To what end?”

“I’m not saying that. I don’t know if you’re being used or not, but you shouldn’t automatically assume you understand what’s going on.”

It felt like Erica was questioning her control and her intelligence, but she really wasn’t. Lydia mastered the desire to defend herself. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

Scott emerged from the last building. “I can’t find anything. Want to go back?”

Lydia couldn’t help the bitterness. “Sure. Sorry for wasting your time.”

“It wasn’t a waste,” Scott said. “A negative result is still a result. We can learn from it.”

Despite Scott’s attempt to look on the bright side, the walk back to the car was less enthusiastic. Lydia kept her attention focused on her feet, avoiding tripping or stepping into mud or worse in her expensive boots. This would keep her from dwelling on this until she was home, relaxed, and able to bring new perspective to the problem. 

It turned out, she wouldn’t get the chance. Erica caught her attention. “We’ve got an audience.”

Lydia lifted her head. A woman had come to stand on the front steps of the old farmhouse across the road, watching the three of them. When they reached the road, Erica and Scott turned to the car, but Lydia kept right on walking.

“You going to talk to her?” Scott asked, probably unnecessarily. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes, I do.”

The woman waited patiently as she approached. She might have been pretty once, but now she had grown old. She looked like one of those statues worn down by the wind and rain. 

“Hello, my name is Lydia Martin. Good afternoon.”

“Hello.” Her voice was creaky, as if she wasn’t used to talking. “I’m Lenore.” The woman hesitated. “You’re interested in Canaan.”

“There’s not as much there as I thought.” 

Lenore looked over Lydia’s shoulder toward the ghost town, even though it wasn’t visible from the road. “That would be true.” She took in a deep breath, obviously both afraid and excited. “Won’t you come in for some lemonade?”

“Can my friends come too?”

The old woman looked away from Lydia to the street, as if only then noticing Erica and Scott. She narrowed her eyes and then nodded. Turning, she went back into the house.

Lydia looked back at the others, but Scott and Erica were coming over. 

“You sure about this?”

“She’s an old woman,” Scott countered. “What do we have to lose? And if she’s trying to pull something, we’ve got you, Erica.”

“Damn right.”

Lenore’s living room made Lydia sad. The woman obviously did her best to keep the place up. There wasn’t any dust and the windows were clean, but everything was had decayed. The curtains must have been at least thirty years old and the original chartreuse had faded in the sun until they looked a pale greenish-yellow. The carpet was threadbare in places, though someone had tried to arrange the room to cover them. 

“I haven’t had guests in a while,” Lenore said, bringing in a tray with lemonade on it. 

“Thank you,” Scott said, taking one of the glasses. Lydia took one as well; it wasn’t very good. Too sour.

The old lady finally sat down. “So what brings you to Canaan?”

The three teenagers glanced at each other. Visiting her was Lydia’s call, so she decided to take the lead.

“A friend of mine suggested I come here. We’re having a problem in Beacon Hills, and he thought that I could find an answer to our problem if I figured out what happened to Canaan.”

“Canaan’s been this way for a long, long time.” There was something about the way that Lenore said it, carefully trying to give nothing away.

“Did it get this way because of the Riders?” Lydia threw the dice. She wasn’t averse to gambling when she thought the odds were good.

Erica’s head had turned to look at the front door, but Lydia suspected that she was listening to the woman’s heartbeat.

“Yes. If they’ve come for you, you’re in terrible trouble.”

Scott leaned forward. “What did they do here?”

Lenore frowned, wringing her hands.

This was exactly what they had come for. Lydia pleaded; she could when she had to. “Please. We need your help.”

“Wait here.” Lenore got up and headed toward the stairs to the second floor.

Lydia turned to look at Erica, questioning her silently.

“No lies so far.” 

“What does she smell like?” Scott asked. 

“Like Vick’s, baby powder, and mildew,” Erica replied acerbically. “Lonely. Like an old person.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at the callousness. Some people had problems with aging.

It took only five minutes for Lenore to return, carry with her a small chest. It looked like something for keepsakes or for jewelry. She set it down on the coffee table and took out a key that was around her neck. 

Peering at the box, Scott finally nodded. “That’s made of rowan wood.”

“Yes.” Lenore said, puzzled. “Is that important?”

“It might be.”

With a turn of the key, Lenore opened up the box and reached in to pull out a flyer. “This was the real Canaan.”

Lydia took it. It was dated May 7th, 1982, forty years ago. There was going to be a fish fry at the New Life Christian Church. There was a photograph of the building and at least 100 members of congregation smiling before it. 

“That’s odd.” Lydia glanced over her shoulder.

“You’re wondering where the church went.” Lenore guessed, sounding like she was about to reveal a secret. “It disappeared along with the rest of the town.”

All three of the teenagers squinted at her. 

“How big was it?” Erica asked.

“When I moved here, there were maybe five hundred people living there.”

Lydia tilted her head to the side. “From what I found in the state and local records, it’s only ever been a post office.”

“That’s not true.” Lenore sounded a little crazy. “In 1873, a charismatic traveling preacher decided to settle down and build a church near the post office. He wanted to create a Christian religious community here in Colusa County. Over the years, it slowly grew, and the leader of the church was the leader of the town.”

While Lenore was talking, Lydia kept one eye on the other contents of the chest. There was a bundle of letters tied by a ribbon and a framed picture. From the angle she had, it was a young woman and a young man standing together. When she reached out to snag it, Lenore stopped talking and closed the chest.

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” Scott admitted. “I’m not the biggest local history buff …”

“No one remembers it,” Lenore stressed. “The Riders came and they took everyone in one night, and when they were gone so was all memory of the village.”

“But they didn’t take you,” Erica challenged.

“I don’t know why,” Lenore snapped back, wringing her hands again. “I don’t know why they didn’t take me.”

Erica stood up. “That’s a lie.”

“Erica,” Lydia cautioned. “We’re guests here.”

“They took everyone,” Lenore protested. “And then everyone but me forgot about them. My neighbors. The government. They all forgot. If they’ve come for your town, you need to leave. Take all your family and leave.” 

“Why did they come?” Scott asked while pulling Erica down. “What happened before to draw them here?”

Lenore bit her lip. “Does it matter?”

“We’re told that the Wild Hunt is drawn to places where there is war and bloodshed. It might be important to know the details.”

Lydia looked up at her. “Please. You know what it’s like to lose everything. We don’t want to be the same.”

“They came from El Salvador.” Lenore said quickly. “They were a large family. The church was part of the sanctuary movement, giving places to stay for refugees from the civil wars in Central America.”

“The federal government’s immigration policies made it difficult for people from that part of the world to seek asylum.” Lydia explained. “Nearly five hundred churches all over the United States harbored Latin American refugees in defiance of the law.”

Lenore nodded. “But the family that came … they were followed by … things. Monsters.” The old woman shuddered. “These monsters were angry.”

Pastor Carlson had taken his offer of sanctuary for the Orellana family seriously and considered it his duty to God that they be protected. However, the monsters — who could have been werewolves, but Lenore described them as having glowing green eyes and mottled skin — turned out to be both ruthless and dangerous. The Colusa County Sheriff didn’t know what to make of them, and if the congregation called in the FBI or the state police, they risked the Orellanas being deported back to El Salvador.

After the first few attacks, the congregation met and determined that they would fight to protect the Orellanas from the minions of Satan. They killed four of the creatures though twenty-five of the townspeople also died. The pastor used all the influence he could to keep the authorities away, but in the end there was likely going to be some sort of investigation after all the violence.

And then the Ghost Riders had come.

Lydia had paid close attention to Lenore as she was speaking. The older woman was carefully editing out her own role in the events that happened thirty years ago. If Lydia had to guess, it had to do with the other things in the rowan box.

After she had finished, Erica seemed amazed. “So they took the whole town?”

“Everything. I’m the only person left who remembers it. The things in that box are the only relics. I’ve told you this to warn you.”

“But …” Scott scrunched up his face. “Why didn’t they take everything?” 

Lenore shook her head, but she didn’t answer.

“Maybe they can’t. Maybe that’s part of the way they were made.” Lydia looked at Erica and Scott. “Could you guys do me a favor? I’d like to talk to our host alone.”

Erica frowned while Scott seemed surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. Wait in the car.”

Lenore sat down and Lydia waited with a great deal of her patience until her friends had reluctantly left. She took a sip of her lemonade. 

“What really happened, Lenore?”

Instantly, the woman was on the defensive. “Everything I said happened.”

“What about what you didn’t say?” 

She fidgeted, wringing her hands. “You must never bargain with him.”

“With who?” Lydia remember what Stiles had told her. “With Herne? With the Master of the Hunt?”

Lenore nodded vigorously. “The Ghost Riders didn’t go after the monsters, they went after the Orellanas! If they had never existed, then none of the fighting would ever have happened.” 

“Who was he?”

“He was one of their children; he was a middle child, surrounded by his family, and I was an only child. He was kind. And handsome. And he had fled war and danger, when I had barely left this house. He liked me, and I liked him.” She drifted off, thinking about days long past. “And then one day he was simply … gone. Gone, as if he had never been. No one remembered him. The people who had died were alive once again! The Ghost Riders had erased the entire family.”

“If the Orellanas hadn’t tried to escape, the monsters wouldn’t have followed them. The supernatural would not be in danger of being revealed.”

“I didn’t care about that. I was scared.” Lenore clenched her hands so tight her knuckles grew white. “No, I wasn’t scared. I was angry. I was so angry I screamed.”

The vindication that Lydia experienced didn’t make her feel better. She looked around the house and saw a horrible vision of her future. No, this would never happen.

“Most of the Riders didn’t pay attention, but he did. Have you seen the Ghost Riders?”

“I have.”

“They are horrible to look at, and so is the Master, but he can also look … he can look like someone the Hunt has taken. He wore the face of my Jairo.”

“What did he say to you?”

Lenore began to shake her head. “No. No, no, no. I won’t tell you that. What you need to know is that if he listens to you, you can change his mind. But you have to be careful.”

“You mean … where is Jairo?”

“I got Jairo back, but I didn’t realize that he would take Canaan instead. He took everyone but the Jairo and his family.” She sounded sad. “But without the church …”

“They were deported back to El Salvador.”

Lenore opened the chest and touched the letters. “He sent me ten letters. Then he died at the hands of a government death squad. I traded an entire town for that.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

The old woman’s eyes blazed forth. “You can direct the course of the Wild Hunt if the Master takes a liking to you, but you must never think he cares, Lydia Martin. _He does not care.”_

**~*~**

Two days later, Lydia went to track down the coordinates her grandmother had left her. She hadn’t slept well, Lenore’s story playing over and over in her mind.

While this side of Beacon Hills wasn’t as wooded and as pristine as the Preserve, neither was watered-lawn suburbia. Patches of trees formed knots of cover between scrubby grasses. It hadn’t been a wet winter, so at least Lydia didn’t have to slog through mud. 

Two werewolves flanked her, one slightly ahead of her and one slightly behind. It was an obvious tactic.

“Am I going to have a bodyguard everywhere I go?”

“Yup.” Boyd smiled at her. 

“And it doesn’t matter what I want?”

“Nope.” Isaac replied while studying his cell phone, trying to match the coordinates to where they were.

Lydia pursed her lips. On a certain level, she was grateful, but on another level this was very annoying. 

“Look, when you agreed to work with Derek, you pretty much agreed to this.”

Lydia gave Boyd a scathing look. “I don’t remember doing any such thing.”

“He’s asked you to do things that might be dangerous, so he’s going to make sure you’re adequately protected,” Boyd explained, patiently.

“It took me days to heal the wound to my head from a single Ghost Rider’s whip. You have plenty of reason to think that they won’t hurt you, but you should forgive us for not being one-hundred percent sure about that.” Isaac pointed to a copse of trees. “I think it’s right over there.”

They marched over to a particularly thick copse, threading their way through the brush. Isaac stopped in the exact middle, where there was a bit of a hollow, but that was all. Lydia took out her own cell phone and used the GPS locator function to double check Isaac’s work. 

“There’s nothing here.” Lydia frowned when she was finished. “I was sure that there would be something here.”

“It’s a banshee thing, right?” Isaac studied the branches over them, looking for a clue. “Maybe you’re supposed to feel something?”

“From what she wrote, I think my grandmother wanted me to scream when I got to this location, but I don’t feel the urge to do so. Not at all.” Lydia pulled out the note from her jacket. “Maybe I misinterpreted it. Maybe she wanted it to look like coordinates but it really means something else.”

“Or maybe you’re over-thinking it.” Boyd chuckled, so Isaac and Lydia turned to look at him. “Sometimes it’s just a matter of perspective.”

“What do you mean? You’ve got that look on your face like you’ve figured something out, and it makes me want to smack you.”

Boyd didn’t take her threat seriously. Instead, he pointed over to a stand of bushes about fifty feet from where they had gathered. “The coordinates give you the position, but they don’t tell you the altitude.”

Lydia saw the corner of a grate hidden in the bushes. “Fantastic. Underground tunnels. I’m going to get filthy.”

“You’ll still be hot,” Isaac remarked before he realized he was speaking out loud. He colored. “I mean, pretty.”

“Thank you.” Lydia rolled her eyes and marched over to the grate. “Is it me, or does this look like it was purposefully hidden?”

“I think so.” Boyd used strength and claws to clear weeds and branches out of the way. “It would have been really difficult to find if we didn’t have those coordinates.”

“That leaves my only question as who hid them?”

“Derek’s family had secret tunnels under their house. Could they have done this?” Isaac bent down and, grunting, broke the lock and opened the grate. “There’s a ladder. Want me to go first?”

“If you don’t mind.” 

The metal ladder was sturdy though the metal hurt her hands. They all climbed down and stood in the darkness until they got their phone’s flashlight function up. The tunnel’s walls were reinforced. Someone had put a lot of effort to build this.

“Do you feel that?” Isaac shined his light at them. 

“No.” Lydia didn’t feel anything.

“Yeah.” Boyd went to the wall and ran his hand over it. “There’s mountain ash.”

“How can you guys get in then?” Lydia touched the wall, but she felt nothing. 

“It takes a closed circle and it takes someone’s will behind it,” Boyd explained. “If I had to guess, somewhere there’s a mechanism which closes the circle. That act empowers the ash. But I think we can guess who built this, can’t we?”

“The Argents,” Isaac said, grimly.

“Why would the Argents build a network of tunnels here?” Lydia wondered. “The Hales weren’t that big of a threat. Were they?”

Boyd and Isaac looked at each other. Boyd shrugged. “They were gone before we were bitten, so I don’t know.”

“It looks like we still have GPS, but just barely,” Isaac announced. “It’s up here.”

They came to a part of the tunnel which, quite frankly, looked like any other part of the tunnels. To Lydia, though, it didn’t feel like anything she had ever approached before. Her visions had all been about discovering the truth, about revealing trust and friendship, or about regaining something she had lost. Her footsteps slowed as she experienced dread for the first time. Whatever was waiting for her there was going to be completely different.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked, turning to her.

“Yeah. Don’t be afraid.” Boyd went over and touched her on the arm to reassure her. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know. Cover your ears,” Lydia said, her voice breaking. She clenched her fists and then took a deep breath.

The scream echoed in the closed space of the tunnel, echoing and magnifying until it was almost too loud for Lydia herself. The glass screen of her cell-phone shattered as destructive frequencies doubled and redoubled. Unlit light bulbs shattered through the place, filling the air with a chemical scent. 

Blood ran from the werewolves’ ears and Lydia felt light-headed, but their attention was fixed on the floor. It had cracked and crumbled, and pieces of it were beginning to fall into some sort of hole beneath it. That would have been terrifying itself, but a hand shot up out of the ground, clawed like a werewolf’s, and grabbed the edge of the hole. This was followed by another claw.

A figure pulled itself out of the mysterious hole that formed in the floor. As Isaac and Lydia shined their fractured phone lights on him, they saw it wasn’t a terrible monster. Aside from the werewolf claws, a mouth full of fangs, and glowing yellow eyes, it looked like another teenager, one who could very well have gone to school of them.

He roared, out of rage or fear, Lydia couldn’t tell. His behavior showed enough of a threat that Isaac dropped his phone to the floor and he and Boyd pinned the other werewolf to the wall.

The stranger struggled, but Derek’s two betas kept him subdued. Finally, the initial shock and fear left his eyes. 

“Lydia?”

“You know me.” She stepped forward as both Isaac and Boyd kept a firm grip on him. “How do you know me, when I don’t know you?”

The boy shook to try to free himself, but he couldn’t. “You don’t know me?” His dirt covered face showed its shock but then it was wiped away with something else — hope. “Where’s Scott? Where’s Stiles?”

“You know them?” Boyd tried his most threatening tone. “You better tell us who you are.”

“I’m Theo. Theo Raeken.” He sagged against the wall, relief painting his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any residents of Colusa County find a critical error on my work, let me know. I could have missed something, but I couldn't find much of anything on the actual ghost town of Canaan.


	7. Antisocial

Lydia went to sit down at the McCall’s kitchen table, but when she pulled out the chair, she stopped. Excitement kept her from relaxing, and if she tried to sit down now, she’d be up again in a few minutes.

They had brought the boy called Theo to Scott’s house, because Isaac had known that Melissa wouldn’t be home, that Scott would be, and that Theo had asked specifically after Scott and Stiles. Taking him to the Hale House might have angered Derek or might have frighten Theo. They didn’t know anything about his pack or even if he was an omega, which Boyd had explained to her was a packless werewolf. Caution and patience were the best plays. 

Lydia, on the other hand, had to stop herself repeatedly from interrogating Theo about Stiles right then and there. Her grandmother must have predicted what she would need, and she was eager to pursue Lorraine’s gift.

“He came out of the ground?” Scott asked incredulously. He unconsciously glanced up at the ceiling and towards his bedroom, where Theo was getting cleaned up. The boy had asked for a chance to do so, trying to be cool and collected. He had fooled absolutely no one. Whatever ordeal he had endured underground had shaken him up badly, no matter how desperate Theo was to demonstrate otherwise.

Isaac had his head buried in the refrigerator. “Like a flower bursting with the new growth of spring.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Isaac’s sarcasm. “I’ll admit it wasn’t what I expected when I thought that doing what my grandmother wanted would be helpful, but I’ll take it. He was aggravated when he appeared, but once he realized we weren’t going to hurt him, he almost collapsed with relief. Wherever he was, it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Out of the ground,” Scott repeated in wonder.

“Yeah.” The werewolf didn’t bother to turn around to talk. He was on the hunt. “Bingo! Tamales. Can I heat these up?”

“Go ahead.”

“Does your boyfriend usually steal food when he comes over?”

Isaac stood up with his prize. “Derek has improved a lot as an alpha, Lydia, but a cook he is not.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from …” Lydia trailed off as Scott flailed in her direction, trying to head that sentence off.

“I can cook. I’m actually pretty damn good at it.” Isaac stood up to his full height. “My father made me cook when I was at home, so it’s not my favorite task.”

“Oh.” Lydia didn’t know what to say. “You don’t get along with your father?” 

Scott’s face went blank. Carefully blank.

Isaac simply laughed as he plugged the numbers into the microwave. “You could say that. We used to get along a lot worse, then he woke up one day and I was stronger than he was or any human, really. When I turned eighteen, I moved in with Derek and I haven’t talked to him since.”

“I remember Theo Raeken.” Scott announced, which they already could have guessed, but he was desperately trying to change the subject. “We were friends in the fourth grade, but then he moved away after his sister died. Now he’s back, plus he was a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Weird, isn’t it?” Isaac had been distracted from talking about his father, as Scott had intended. “But when you think about it, it’s not much of a coincidence.”

“Why?” Lydia said absently.

“Derek’s family are well known, or maybe I should say they _were_ well known. Whatever. They not only protected Beacon Hills, but a lot of the surrounding werewolf packs would come to talk to Derek’s mother Talia. She was a bit of a celebrity.”

Scott chuckled. “Derek would bop you on the head for calling her that.” He turned to Lydia. “Derek’s mother could full shift, and most werewolves can’t. No one knows if it’s a function or power, or psychology, or genetics, but they do know it’s rare. As a consequence, packs respected what she had to say. Everyone wanted to be in good with her.”

“Full shift? What’s that?” 

“Turning completely into a wolf. Four legs. Tail.” Isaac looked up at a noise only he could hear. “Theo’s out of the shower.”

They waited for Theo to come down. When the microwave dinged, Scott took charge of the tamales, putting half of them on a plate for Theo. Isaac grumbled a little bit. 

“If he doesn’t want it, you can have all of them.”

“Want what?” Theo entered the kitchen looking like a normal person rather than a dirt-covered escapee from the netherworld. The shower seemed to have calmed him, but when he took one look at Scott, a dizzying parade of emotions flashed across his face: rage then surprise then regret then a sort of melancholy. A few moments after, all trace of them were gone, replaced by a nonchalant mask. Lydia recognized a prodigious talent; Theo had long ago mastered the ability to conceal his true emotions from others, though he seemed to be having a bit of trouble tonight.

“Hi, Theo.” Scott seemed shy, but Lydia suspected he had noticed the emotional reactions and wanted to make Theo seem at ease. “Do you remember me?”

Anyone with less talent than hers could have missed Theo swallowing a lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember you. Why wouldn’t I?”

The human chose not to answer the question. “Are you hungry? We made some tamales.” 

It was fascinating for Lydia to watch Theo struggle to maintain his facade whenever Scott spoke to him. What had gone on between them?

“I could eat.” Theo finally managed to sound mildly excited. 

They all sat down at the kitchen table. Everyone had a drink, and plates were set in front of Isaac and Theo, who both ate with relish. Scott waited for them to finish, but Lydia couldn’t. They could sue her for being a little bit impatient.

“Okay, Theo, you asked about Stiles when you came out of the ground. What do you know about him?”

The fork stopped halfway up to his mouth, but it wasn’t out of shock. He put it down and slowly chewing his food. “You don’t know who Stiles is?”

All three of them shook their heads. 

“Whoa, dude,” Isaac raised his eyebrow. “Your heart’s going crazy.”

“Uh. Yeah.” The newcomer’s eyes slid around the room. “It’s nothing. I’m just a little surprised that you don’t know the sheriff’s son.”

Lydia frowned and looked at him pointedly. “Try again.”

“I know, I know. But give me a little space. It’s like … I wasn’t in a good place before you summoned me.”

“No one cares about your emotional state, dude,” Isaac snarked.

Theo squinted at him, trying to tell if the other werewolf was trying to be funny or trying to be mean.

“That’s just Isaac’s sense of humor,” Scott reassured him, immediately. “We’d like to know what you know about Stiles, but you should take all the time you need.”

She had stopped paying attention to the conversation, because Lydia had noticed something about Theo’s hands. The boy was trembling, but he was also fighting hard not to show it. Beads of perspiration gathered along his hairline. He was close to panic.

“Take a breath, Theo. You’re among friends.”

“No, I’m not.” Theo pushed himself back from the table. “I’m not. _I’m not._ I’m still there.”

Scott had caught on to what Lydia was trying to do, and most likely so did Isaac, though he didn’t bother to react to it. Scott, on the other hand, tried to add his voice to hers. “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

“You’re not real. You can’t be real. This is a trick.” Theo pushed his chair back and his eyes blazed yellow. 

Isaac finally reacted to the overt threat, standing up as well. “You need to calm down. Lydia, come over here by me.”

While Lydia did what the werewolf said, Scott didn’t. Instead, he tried to get Theo’s attention. “Why don’t you think this is real, Theo? Where were you?”

Theo stood up, primed to run, but then he sagged back and sat back down. His head dropped forward so his chin rested on his chest. “I can’t escape.”

Lydia didn’t know what to do. It seemed that their only lead was on the verge of a full psychological implosion. Scott stood up from the table and walked around to where he could squat down in front of the panicking boy.

“Theo. Can you look at me?” Scott kept his voice soft and non-threatening. “Come on. Look at me.”

Theo’s eyes were still glowing, but he showed no fangs or claws. He raised his head just enough to look Scott in the face.

“No matter what you’ve gone through, I want you to believe me. This is real, and Lydia, Isaac, and I want to help you.”

Theo shook his head. From her position, Lydia could see tears gathering at the corner of Theo’s eyes. Isaac shifted position; his own eyes were blazing, ready to jump into action to protect Scott or Lydia. “You wouldn’t want to help me. None of you would.”

Scott glanced behind him to where Isaac and Lydia were standing. Lydia felt frustration gnawing at the base of her spine. Theo knew things, things she had to know.

“Theo.” She snapped at him. “You’re being pathetic.”

Twisting around, Scott looked at her like she had kicked a puppy.

“It was my scream that brought you out of the ground, out of where you were. We’ve let you bathe, we’ve clothed you, and we’ve fed you. We’ve been kind and compassionate, and you keep babbling on like some dumb cheerleader in a slasher movie. You’re better than this.”

“Lydia!” 

“I watched you try to hold it together at this table. You obviously think you should be able to.” Isaac took hold of her arm and she shook it off. “So, hold it together. Stop blubbering like a useless _failure,_ and tell us what we need to know!”

Scott’s voice was sharp. “Lydia. Could I talk to you outside for a moment?” It wasn’t hard to believe that he was an alpha in another universe.

“No.” Theo stood up, stretching his neck. “She’s right.” Something that Lydia said to him had sparked both his anger and his defiance. “I can tell you everything you need to know. I’m better now.”

With one last glare at Lydia, Scott turned back. Isaac gave her a reassuring wink. 

“I don’t know the proper name of the place, but I was being held by a group of Navajo shapeshifters called the Skin-Walkers. It only looked like I was underground, though I was actually in another dimension. It was some sort of punishment realm, where I experienced … a very painful hallucination again and again.” 

Theo seemed to gain strength by his confession. 

“You were in Hell?” Isaac queried.

“No.” Theo responded brusquely. He stood a little straighter as he took control of the situation. “Hell is where wicked souls go to be punished after they die. I never died. I was sent to the Skin-Walker’s realm, and I was still alive, though I wish I wasn’t.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. This certainly explained his reluctance, but it didn’t explain why their presence and their questions had triggered his trauma. 

“Who sent you there?” Scott asked, horrified.

“ _You_ did.”

Silence reigned in the kitchen.

“I did?” Scott didn’t believe it.

“Well, not you specifically. A member of your pack did.” Theo shrugged. “I’m not upset. We weren’t friends when it happened.”

Isaac glanced at Scott and then back at Theo. “I find it hard to believe that any pack run by Scott would send a person to Hell. I’m betting it was something quite a bit more than you simply not being friends.”

“Does it matter?” Theo shrugged. “What matters is if you want me to believe that this world is real, tell me why Scott isn’t an alpha! Why aren’t you in France? Why are people asking me about Stiles?”

“France?” Isaac startled. 

Scott turned to Lydia, and she understood his message. Theo knew about the strange things she had seen, heard and felt.

“Do you know Liam Dunbar?”

“Scott’s beta? Yeah.” Theo looked around. “I’m surprised he’s not here.”

“France?” 

“Yes, Isaac, he said France.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “What about Jackson Whittemore?”

It was Theo’s turn to narrow his eyes. “What happened here? If you don’t try to keep me in the dark, maybe I can help you.”

“It’s called the Wild Hunt,” Scott explained, over Lydia and Isaac’s silent objections. “If we want him to trust enough to tell us his story, then we need to trust him enough to tell him ours. We’ve seen the Ghost Riders. We want to know what they’ve did to Stiles Stilinski.”

“The Wild Hunt?” Theo asked, shocked. “The Hunt came to Beacon Hills?”

“You know about them?”

“I do. The people I used to work for …” He shuddered, involuntarily. “The Ghost Riders were the one thing of which they were afraid. They took pretty spectacular precautions to avoid being targeted by the Hunt.”

Lydia leaned forward eagerly. “Do you know what they know? Is there any way we can contact them?”

“You don’t want to talk to them.” Theo said it too quickly to cover his own fear completely. “But it makes sense, in an awful sort of way. Given everything that’s happened in Beacon Hills, it was only a matter of time before the Hunt arrived.”

“So, you’ll help us?”

Theo shrugged. “I can tell you some things, but there is one truth you should understand right now: The Wild Hunt comes; the Wild Hunt goes. If Stiles was taken by the Ghost Riders, then he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do to get him back.”

**~*~**

“One hundred and forty-one.” Derek said heavily, leaning up against the wall of the examination room in the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. His entire pack was there, Scott, Dr. Deaton, Lydia, and their new acquaintance, Theo. Theo had just given a very short summary of the reasons that the Wild Hunt might have been drawn to Beacon Hills.

“Mind you, I didn’t have access to all the police files, medical records, or even the eye-witness reports.” Theo acted as if all the eyes focused on him didn’t bother him at all. His report had been succinct and delivered without emotion, if a bit thin on the details. “Most of it I heard about second hand.”

“But not all of it.” Boyd always had an eye for details. Erica had told her that it was one of the reasons that Derek made sure that he was present at the important reasons.

Theo remained unfazed. “No. Not all of it. I saw plenty of death, if that’s what you want to know.”

The room remained quiet as they digested the report. Scott suddenly turned and left the room. No one was surprised. Derek finally turned and looked at Deaton, who had been standing there with his arms crossed.

“While that sounds like a lot of victims, Theo, I know of several supernatural events that have larger body counts and did not draw the attention of the Hunt.”

Theo smiled bitterly at being able to correct the veterinarian. “It wasn’t a single event. The kanima and its masters killed eleven people. The Alpha Pack and the Darach killed eighteen people. The nogitsune killed more. The Dead Pool killed even more than that. The Resurrected Beast killed the most.” Theo shrugged. “It’s not a single instance of spree killing, it’s five — six if you count Peter Hale’s rampage.”

Derek’s face grew harsh at the mention of his uncle. Lydia had only heard parts of the story, but she it had to be to the alpha’s credit that he still felt so strongly about what had occurred. 

The rest of the room, except for Deaton, who stayed to one side silently pondering, and Scott, who suddenly turned and left the room, burst into an animated discussion of events. Lydia and the betas cornered Theo, demanding details such as what was a kanima or how did an alpha pack operate. 

Derek didn’t join the discussion. Instead, he waited for Deaton to finish his deliberations.

Lydia initially asked questions along with the other betas, but she slowly realized it was not going to be productive. Theo was very clever. He provided information, but if you paid close attention you could tell he was subtly editing out things that would reveal his role in those events. He was directing the conversation away from certain topics, and Lydia started to grow suspicious.

“Do you think what he is saying is possible?” Derek finally asked Deaton, his raised voice silencing everyone in the room.

“Given the number of police officers injured, given the involvement of the FBI, given the damage done to the Argents, I think it is very possible that those chain of events occurred. One of the reasons that most hunters are established families is because it helps them develop ties and insure loyalty in order to keep secrets. The Argents, the Calaveras, and hunters like them may not realize the purpose of the Wild Hunt, but they do realize that it wouldn’t be good for anyone if the supernatural became widely known.” 

Derek frowned in response. “I originally wanted to know because I wanted to prevent anything that would summon the Hunt from happening again, only to find that I caused most of it. One of my betas became the kanima.”

Deaton raised his hands to placate him. “You’ve bitten three betas. All of them seem to be well adjusted.” Isaac snorted, and the Emissary regarded him wryly. “Perhaps some to a greater or lesser extent.”

“Who was the kanima?” The alpha turned to Theo. When the boy’s eyes slid to Lydia, Derek snapped authoritatively. “Don’t look at her. Answer me.”

“Jackson Whittemore.”

Of course, Lydia wasn’t surprised by this. She and Jackson had been entwined during that year in a mutually destructive relationship, fueled by their need for control. If her sophomore boyfriend had discovered the existence of the supernatural, she could easily see him chasing after the chance to be greater than he was. And given what little she had learned of a werewolf’s needs for emotional stability …

“He’s much better now.” Lydia defended him, though the present Jackson didn’t need defending.

Derek nodded, but his mind was working down other avenues. “So, you can tell us more about what triggered these events.”

“Yeah, sure. Won’t be hard.”

Boyd spoke up. “Can you help us against the Hunt if it attacks us again?”

“What? It’s still here?” Theo’s voice went up an octave at the news. No one had told him this.

“Yes,” Deaton confirmed it. “Isaac, Scott, and Lydia encountered them at the Sheriff’s home.”

“But that’s …”

“Go on.” Derek ordered.

“I was taught that the Wild Hunt comes and then the Wild Hunt goes. Once it’s done its job, it doesn’t hang around unless …” Theo glanced in the direction that Scott went. “It gets stuck.”

“Stuck?” Erica sounded disbelieving. 

“That’s how it was explained to me. It’s the best I can tell you.”

“Can you get us into the Hunt’s dimension?” Lydia demanded.

“I might be able to, though I’m not sure. I know of some equipment that might be able to shift you there.” Theo suggested. “But why on earth would you want to go? The Ghost Riders are a force of nature. There’s no defeating them.”

“I don’t want to defeat them. I want to rescue Stiles.”

“Stiles is gone, erased by the Hunt.” 

“No, he’s not. I saw him in their realm. I traveled there.”

Theo shook his head, giving her a condescending smile. “No, you didn’t. Stiles doesn’t exist anymore. There’s no one to rescue. It’s the nature of what they did.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask Deaton, then, if I’m right.” 

All the eyes in the room turned to him. Deaton narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m hardly an expert on the Wild Hunt.”

“But you are an expert on the occult. You can work it out,” Theo cornered him, obviously relieved to be able to direct everyone’s attention at someone else. “If they simply just erased Stiles, history wouldn’t change. Scott would still have been bitten and …” Theo hesitated. “Among other things.”

“Things you are hiding!” Lydia accused.

“Duh. Why do you think Scott left the room even after I told you the _basics?_ Do the people in this room want to know all the screwed up things they did? All the terrible things that happened to them?” Everyone hesitated. “I didn’t think so.”

Boyd moved to draw Theo’s attention. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that there may be someone trapped in the hunt.”

“How many times do I have to explain? He doesn’t exist anymore!”

“Then how do you remember him?” Erica pointed out. 

“I …” Theo was at a loss for words.

“I’m going to suggest that this is due to where Mr. Raeken was being held.” Deaton began, turning to Derek. “The Hunt was designed to protect this reality. If what he told the others is true, the Skin-Walkers took him to another dimension, one that didn’t change when the Hunt changed this one.”

“I don’t care.” Lydia wasn’t going to stand here and let men dither. She walked over to him and grabbed Theo by the shirt. “Stiles is in that realm.”

“However I happened to be here, it doesn’t mean he’s there. For Stiles to be in that realm, he would have had to exist at some point. Did he know you when you talked to him?” 

“Yes.”

“How would he know if he never existed? He never asked you out to the Winter Formal. He never memorized your vital statistics. He never said hello. He never met you in the third grade. So how would he possibly be able to recognize you? Those things never happened.”

“But he did …” Lydia began and then stopped.

Lenore had told her about the Master of the Hunt and his ability to appear as a soul the Hunt had taken. Was she fooled? She rounded on Deaton. “Tell him he’s wrong.”

“I cannot. But neither can I say that I fully agree with him. I don’t know the mechanics of how the Wild Hunt does what it does. Stiles may exist in their dimension. He may not. However, even if I have to propose that a rescue mission would be extraordinarily dangerous.”

“I’m grateful for you freeing me, Lydia, but you’re telling me that you want me to use my old employers’ equipment — and getting to that equipment is not without its risk — and use it to project you into the Ghost Rider’s dimension so you can risk your lives to rescue someone who doesn’t even exist? Pass.”

“Who were your old employers?” Boyd challenged him. “Why does your pulse race whenever you mention them? Just like it’s doing now.”

Theo tried to pivot. “Is that important at this moment?”

“I think it is.” Derek had been hanging back. “Ever since we came here tonight, I’ve been studying you. I’ve been watching your posture, how you hold yourself. I’ve been listening to your words and the beat of your heart. I’ve locked onto your scent. There’s something off about you, I can’t quite place, and that bothers me. It also bothers me that you’ve been trying to steer the conversation away from yourself and to someone else. Anybody else. Scott is one of the most forgiving people I know, so it’s really suspicious that you and he were enemies, so answer Boyd’s question.”

“They were bad people.” Theo said quickly, and even Lydia could see the edge of panic. “Really bad people. And … I did what they told me to. But I’m trying to change, and part of trying to change should be not taking people that I … people like you into another dimension to risk your lives against an unstoppable army for someone who is not there!”

“But you’re not telling us everything,” Lydia argued.

“That’s right, I’m not. I won’t unless you find a way to make me. Look, I knew Stiles. More than just a name, Lydia, more than just a feeling, and I knew what he meant to you, to Scott, to everyone in this room. I knew what he meant to me. If I believed that you had more than one chance in a hundred, I’d go with you myself. It would be the least I could do for him.”

“So there is a chance.” 

“Yes, Lydia, but as Doctor Cryptic said, there’s no way to know for sure. There is a microscopic chance that he could be there. Are you willing to risk your lives for it?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yes, we are.” Derek backed her up. 

“You?” Theo reacted to the alpha’s pronouncement as if he couldn’t believe his ears. 

“From what I’ve managed to glean from what little you’ve told this, none of this would have happened in either reality without the tragedies that follows my family around like carrion birds. Stiles didn’t have anything to do with the supernatural, so he shouldn’t pay the price.”

Derek stalked up to Theo, who looked about the room, finding no one on his side. For a moment, Lydia thought that Derek was going to resort to some intimidating violence, but instead he reached out with his good arm and put his only hand on Theo’s shoulder.

“You said you were a bad person but you’re trying to be better. Is that true?”

Theo nodded.

“Redemption requires risk. Redemption requires trust. When I came back here, I didn’t have it. I almost lost everything. Learn from my mistakes.”

The boy took in a deep breath and began to speak. He talked about the location of the equipment, located in a subterranean lair beneath the water treatment plant. He told them about the equipment and as much as he knew about its operation. He still only referred to his former employers in the vaguest possible terms.

After that, Derek asked for Lydia to go over everything she had learned at Canaan. Lydia complied, though she omitted the part about what Lenore had said about Herne. She was afraid that if Derek knew about it, it might shift his opinion to match Theo’s, and that she would not permit. 

Everyone began to discuss logistics, aiming for the approaching full moon as a possible point in time, where the werewolves would be strongest. Lydia grew anxious and worried. She was absolutely sure that Theo was hiding things, partly because she knew was hiding things. The Stiles she met could have been Herne in disguise. She excused herself at a point when everyone was talking about who would be going.

She walked outside. She remembered how many times that her mother, trying to be wise, had counseled her to _Be careful what you wish for._ It seemed like a trite phrase that Natalie trotted out to limit her expectations, but it turned out to have a grain of truth.

She had determined that she would solve this mystery, and she had mostly solved it. She had determined that she would control her own fate, and she controlled it. She had promised herself she wouldn’t be some fainting maiden waiting for a big strong man to save her, and now here she was with the life of someone else in her hands.

Lydia understood, without a shadow of a doubt, that the solution to this rested mostly in her hands. What would happen would depend on her decisions. It thrilled her. It terrified her. 

At this moment, she needed air. 

The winter evening was cool and crisp, even at the back alley of the animal clinic in this downtown area. Stars were emerging from the sky, endlessly patient, in mockery of the turmoil below.

Scott McCall was perched on a stack of old wooden pallets. If his head hung any lower, it would be between his knees.

“Scott?”

He raised his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Oh. Lydia. Hi.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.” He feebly denied it. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Why?” She smiled at him. It was easier now to turn to someone else’s problems than her own.

“Uhh.”

“Scott.” She let an edge into her voice.

“I found out I had a best friend. I didn’t have one before. I knew Theo in the fourth grade, but we weren’t close. We hung out a few times, but I still ate lunch by himself. I still sat on the bench during recess by myself, so I wouldn’t have an attack.”

Lydia came closer, so she could reach out and touch him, though she didn’t. “Okay.”

Scott smiled. “I keep thinking about it, and I don’t know anything about him. Did we have sleepovers? Did we become go hiking? Did we argue about movies and comic books? Did we go to parties together? Did he play lacrosse with me?”

“You probably did.”

“I only know two things.” Scott sniffled. “That one time, I followed him out into the woods to find a dead body.”

She smiled. “You must have trusted him a great deal. And the other thing?”

“I got him killed.” 

“You didn’t …”

“Everything that Theo said didn’t happen because of anything Stiles did or Stiles was. It happened because of what I did. What I was. So the Wild Hunt came to cover everything up, but they didn’t take me. They took him.”

A number of useless platitudes came to Lydia’s mind. She didn’t say them. 

“Why not take me? I don’t want to be taken, but this person — Stiles — looked at me and called me his best friend. And I got him erased.”

“You didn’t erase him.” Lydia said quietly. “And you’re not the only one who loved him. I don’t know why they took him, but when all these … villains came for the other you, it was because you were a hero.”

Scott laughed out loud. “I’m not a hero.”

“Yes. In this reality, and in that one. You help because you can, not because what you can get out of it.” She talked to him, but she was also talking to him. “You didn’t force the Wild Hunt to take Stiles. That’s not your responsibility. What you do now —” _What I do now. _“— is your responsibility.”__

__He looked up at her. “Do you think we were close?”_ _

__She heard something on the very edge of her hearing, something that might have been true, that should have been true. “I think you were more like brothers.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I screwed up. I implied in the first chapter that Isaac was still living with his father and then I gave him an apartment at the new Hale House. Luckily, I didn't have to change anything -- Isaac lived with his father until he was 18 and then moved out.


	8. Coup De Main

Lydia sat at the dining room table, failing to pay attention to her mother. Natalie prattled on about her garden club or a junior garden club being formed at the high school or someone leading clubs at the bridge game held at one of her inane friend’s garden parties. Lydia had quite lost the thread of the monologue.

Pushing what remained of her dinner around with a fork, Lydia’s mind kept circling back to the upcoming full moon. It was only four days away, and she found that she was both impatient for it to happen and reluctant for it to arrive. She had only paid one brief visit to the laboratory where the equipment Theo had told them about was kept. Hidden deep in the bowels of the water treatment plant, the whole set-up resembled a modern version of the laboratory of Dr. Frankenstein.

“I’m sure whatever you plant in the spring will be fine, Mom.”

“Plant in the spring?” Natalie put her fork down so hard it almost broke the china. “Lydia!”

“What?” Startled, she looked up to find her mother glaring at her.

“I was talking about your father’s ridiculous idea to run for state representative. Have you even been listening to me?”

“I’m sorry. I have a lot of things on my mind right now.”

In response, Natalie reached for her wine glass and took a sip. She closed her eyes before putting it down. “You used to be able to talk to me. I’d like for us to find some way to be like that again. What’s on your mind?”

“Perhaps they’re things I don’t want to talk to you about?” 

“You’re eighteen now, and you’ve become a fine young woman, but I still think I can help out a little bit.”

“I’m not crazy, mom, and I’m not helpless.” Lydia was surprised by the venom in her own voice. 

“I didn’t say you were.” 

“But you act like it. When we do talk and you try to help, it’s only productive when you’re comfortable with the topic. The moment things go beyond the boundaries of this perfect suburban vision of life you’ve built for us, you freak out.”

A look of hurt crossed over Natalie’s face.

“What I’m involved in would definitely make you freak out.”

Her mother took her napkin, folded it neatly in half, and then smoothed it out. “Does it have something to do with these new friends you’ve been hanging out with?”

“What new friends?” Lydia felt caught out. She couldn’t believe that her mother had noticed. “Since when do you keep track of who my friends are?”

“I’m talking about Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, and Vernon Boyd.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“I am your mother, and I am also the principal, but you knew that.” Natalie tried to sound authoritarian. “When my teachers warn me about my daughter spending time with a known delinquent …”

“They’re not delinquents. Well, Scott and Vernon aren’t delinquents.”

“And there was the matter with the sheriff, as well. Don’t think I’ve forgotten it.” She folder her hands over her lap. “You’ve been seen at both the Hale House and the Animal Clinic, and I know that you haven’t been taking Prada to an appointment.”

“You have been watching me.” Lydia snapper her fingers. “Not you. The Sheriff.”

“He’s worried about you. You’ve chosen to hang around some dangerous people.”

“Alan Deaton is dangerous?” Lydia replied, saucily. The veterinarian could be dangerous, of that she had no doubt, but her mother would definitely have no idea about it. 

“Anyone can be dangerous, Lydia, depending on the situation. Derek Hale certainly has a dangerous reputation.”

“What do you know about Derek Hale?” She had no time for her mother’s fear of social stigma.

“I know how to survive in Beacon Hills.” 

Lydia nearly spilled the glass of wine her mother always allowed her to have with dinner. Her mother’s last statement was delivered with such intensity that Lydia was sure she wasn’t referring to the opinions of the upper echelon of the PTA. Natalie might know something.

“Mom—”

“If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, then I don’t really want to talk to you anymore. Eat your dinner.” Natalie stood up and took her plate to the kitchen. 

Lydia sat there, stunned. Should she tell her mother about banshees? About the Wild Hunt?

By the time she had finished her meal, she had decided that it was best not to go there. Whatever Natalie knew or didn’t know, she had always demonstrated a very definite approach to situations such as this: avoidance. Lydia didn’t want to avoid it. 

Outside, it began to rain, as a lightning bolt hit very close to the house. Lydia peered through the curtains, but she couldn’t see where it had struck. She went back went to rinsing plates and loading up the dishwasher.

Her mother had gone into the living room and turned on the television. She had poured herself another glass of wine and picked up a good book. It was what Natalie always did to relax after a rough day at school. She would end up turning off the television and reading if the shows couldn’t keep her interest. 

After she was finished cleaning up, Lydia came in and took a seat on the couch. Prada sprinted into the room and jumped up onto her lap. Originally, they had intended not to let the dog get up on the furniture, but they had been so inconsistent in enforcing this rule that they finally had had to give up. They couldn’t expect the papillon to understand why it was okay sometimes and not others. 

Thunder crashed outside the house again. Prada, frightened, jumped off her lap and went upstairs.

“I didn’t think the storm was going to be this bad,” Natalie said, looking up from the television. “The weather report said it was only supposed to be a little rain.”

“The wind doesn’t seem so bad,” Lydia glanced at the picture window at the front of the house and barely managed not to shriek. A ghost rider was standing there, looking at both of them with its dead expression. It turned and walked out of view, heading toward the front door.

“Mom …”

Natalie shouted in dismay when the door shattered inward; she couldn’t see the ghost rider stride through the wreckage. It stalked toward Lydia, ignoring her mother.

Lydia stood up. They were making a move on her at home. Why hadn’t she foreseen this? She felt a scream building up in her throat, but she savagely pushed it down. If she let it go, her mother would be able to see them, and right now the fact that Natalie couldn’t might be the only thing protecting her.

She took a step forward, trying to figure out what its goal was. Maybe she was foolish, assuming it wouldn’t hurt her. 

The ghost rider held out one hand to her. The meaning of the gesture was clear; she was to go with it. Lydia had never wanted to do anything less, ever. 

“No.”

In response, the rider drew its pistol and pointed it at Natalie, who was trying to puzzle out what happened to the door. If Lydia didn’t go with it, her mother would be in jeopardy. 

The approaching death she felt was Natalie’s. The thought of it unsettled so much that she lost control. She screamed. 

“Lydia, are you all right?” Natalie turned at the piercing sound and she finally saw the intruder in her living room. “Oh, my God!” 

The rider held up three fingers, keeping the gun trained on a lethal shot. It was going to count down. 

Lydia didn’t know what to do. She had a feeling that if she went with the rider, she would never come back, but she also had no doubt that bullet would kill her mother. She was suddenly and acutely aware that she was a teenager, and as smart as she thought she was, she was out of her depth. She took a step forward; she had to. She couldn’t let her mother die.

It turned out that there was a third alternative.

Faster than any human could move, Vernon Boyd charged through the open door and launched himself into the air, using his speed and mass to plant the ride into the glass top of the coffee table. The werewolf, fully shifted in front of her terrified mother, continued its violent assault, trying to tear his opponent apart.

Lydia didn’t stand around waiting to see who won. “Come on, Mom!” She ran toward the foyer and grabbed the car keys off the counter. Her mother, dazed with fright, watched as Boyd pulled the head from the corpse’s neck. Lydia reached out, snagged her hand, and pulled.

They got out to the car without umbrellas or coats. “Get in the passenger’s side.” Away from the carnage, Natalie obeyed much more quickly. Lydia slid into the car and started the engine, but she didn’t pull out. She searched her mirrors, turning her head from side to side in a near-panic.

There, at the far end of the lane, were more ghost riders.

“What’s wrong? What’re you waiting for?” Natalie was nearly shrieking. 

Lydia reached back and opened the rear passenger-side door as Boyd, covered in the disgusting ichor of his victim, appeared from the house. “Get in.”

Her mother looked back at the werewolf in terror.

“Hello, Mrs. Martin.”

“Lydia, what are you doing?”

“Mom, _this_ is how you survive in Beacon Hills.” She pulled out of the driveway so hard the tires squealed.

**~*~**

Lydia pulled in front of the Sheriff’s Station. “Mom, I’ll park the car. You go inside and talk to the sheriff.”

“Okay.” Natalie had been quiet on the drive over. The first part of the trip she had spent trying to keep herself from hyperventilating and then calming her trembling hands. The second part of the trip had been her mother trying to process what she had seen.

“Please, Mom, remember. Talk about the robbery; don’t mention Vernon.”

“But he saved us.”

Boyd, looking completely human again, though still covered in rotted blood, leaned in from the back seat. “It’s okay. I don’t need the attention.” 

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, ma’am.”

Natalie left the car and started toward the front doors of the station. Lydia kept an eye out for any more riders, but none seemed to have followed them this far. Once her mother got inside, she put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. 

Boyd turned his head around. “We’re not parking.”

“Nope.” She drove until she reached the first stoplight. “Get in the front seat. It’s weird to talk to someone while they’re sitting behind you. I’m not a chauffeur.”

Boyd left the back seat and sat down in the front. “Where are we going?”

“First, tell me how you happened to be at my house tonight.”

The werewolf looked over at her. “You already know.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“Come on.” Boyd scolded. “You know better than to oversimplify things like that.”

Lydia turned to look at him. Boyd was very handsome, even covered in gore. “Fair enough.”

“Where are we going?”

“The water treatment plant.” 

Boyd looked confused, but he mulled it over. Finally, he nodded. “If Theo wasn’t completely dishonest and his employers were terrified of the Hunt, they might have defenses against them.”

“I also want to talk to Deaton. Scott told me they were going over there after work to figure out how those things work.”

The werewolf grunted an affirmative.

“He knows more than he’s saying, and my mother was in danger tonight.”

“Those things don’t necessarily follow after each other.”

“I know, Boyd: _post hoc, ergo propter hoc._ ”

Boyd looked over at her. “Tonight was not your fault.”

“I think it might be.” Lydia took a turn towards the plant. “And I think that even if he isn’t sure, that veterinarian has a good guess if it was or not.”

The water treatment plant stood in a central location for the city, on the edge between downtown and the industrial sector. It had been a model of modern technology and engineering when it had been built by the city in the 1980s. Lydia hadn’t even been born yet. The facility still operated efficiently and successfully twenty-seven years after being constructed. 

Lydia had done some serious research on the place. One of the strange things about the plant was that it had been designed to handle a city three times the size of Beacon Hills. The ubiquitous service tunnels had been a major infrastructure undertaking, underlying the entire city and most of the nearby countryside. It seemed both wasteful and mysterious until she discovered that when it had been paid for by a bond issue, the major purchasers of the bonds had been the Hale Trust and Argent Arms. 

It would have been hilarious if it were not so typical. She wondered what Beacon Hills would have been like if it hadn’t been the battleground between supernatural families. 

“Do you know the path in?” She asked Boyd as they got out of the car.

“No. But it won’t be a problem. The trail is pretty clear.”

“Trail?”

“You can’t smell that?”

Lydia shook her head. Boyd shrugged. “I guess Deaton marked the path with a scent trail only noticeable to us.”

It took them no time at all to find where the veterinarian was working. He was by himself in the central area of the creepy laboratory.

“How are things going?”

“Miss Martin, Mr. Boyd, I think we are making progress. Slow progress, but progress none-the-less.”

“Why isn’t there anyone here with you?” Boyd looked around the room. “Derek insisted no one go anywhere alone.”

Deaton turned away from the equipment he was working on. “Scott, Erica, and Theo went to fetch dinner. I have a light day tomorrow, so I wanted to focus tonight on preparing for the full moon. And while I have respect for Derek, he has no authority over me.” He gestured for them to come closer. “In any event, this might be the safest place in Beacon Hills right now. This device over here, I believe, strengthens the dimensional boundaries.”

Lydia looked at the device, a jumble of vacuum tubes and coiled wires. “Is it on? I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly, Miss Martin. I believe it would block your power as well. And I find that very, very enlightening.”

“Are you going to share it with us or are you going to conceal it along with the other things you’re hiding?”

Boyd grimaced at her bluntness and her tone. Lydia didn’t care.

The druid turned to look at her and answered without a hint of sarcasm or irony. “I truly haven’t decided yet. I prefer to give things like that some thought.”

“They attacked my house tonight. They threatened my mother. If it wasn’t for Boyd and Derek’s protective shtick, I probably would have been taken. If I find out that something you knew that could have protected her—”

“Nothing I know would have prevented them from targeting you. On the other hand, I know why they are targeting you.”

Lydia walked right up to him. “Then tell me!”

Deaton stared at her. “I’ve warned you before—”

“Once I know, I’m responsible. I get that.”

The druid’s eyes slid to Boyd. 

“He preserved my freedom tonight. I trust him.”

“You know I’m loyal to Derek, Lydia,” Boyd interrupted. “If I feel he would want to know what he tells you, I _will_ tell him.”

For a tenuous moment their eyes met.

“You know I trust you?” She asked softly.

“I know.”

“So could you step outside?”

Boyd turned and left the room. 

The veterinarian walked over to another device that looked like an enormous horseshoe studded with Tesla coils and liquid filled tubes. “Honestly, I have been very impressed with your intelligence over our brief acquaintance, Miss Martin. You may already suspect what I can tell you.”

“I think so, too. I think that Herne deceived Lenore in Canaan. He presented a deal to her as if he was doing her a favor, but I think he didn’t really have any choice.”

Deaton nodded in agreement. “Most likely.”

“I think the reason that the Wild Hunt hasn’t moved on to its next destination is … _me._ I won’t let them go.”

“I believe that is also true.”

Lydia thought about it, calculating the possibilities. “I can control the Hunt. How can I control the Hunt?”

“I told you that Ghost Riders were designed by druids like me to protect the supernatural, but the ancient druids lacked the raw power to create something as enduring as the Wild Hunt. It was the Morrigan, your ancestor, who had the power to set their plans in motion.”

“She summoned the dead.”

Deaton waved his hand as if that were nothing. “Any sufficiently unethical druid, sorcerer or witch can summon the dead. The Ghost Riders can ride the storm, and while that is difficult, it’s not an impossible feat for others to accomplish. They have a dimension to only which they have access, but I suspect so did the people who built this place. The riders can erase whole parts of history, and they do it with flawless accuracy. The question that ability engenders is: how? How do they know when a supernatural event will endanger the veil of secrecy between our worlds? How do they know whom to remove from reality in order to correct it? They manipulate past events with minimal disruption, an action that would have repercussions beyond even the capacity of the wisest to foretell safely.”

“But not beyond a banshee’s.” Lydia felt the weight of the knowledge fall upon her.

“They are souls trapped in dead bodies, tasked to protect the supernatural, but they have limits. They will ride the storm forever, but they can only fulfill their duty because of the blood that helped animate them, the blood that still flows through their veins. The blood — and the power — of the Morrigan.”

Lydia bit her lip.

“They have her blood, but that blood does not belong to them. That power is but borrowed. It will answer, now and forever, to her heirs, to the Daughters of the Morrigan.”

“I can control the Wild Hunt.”

“I think you could, with sufficient growth in both strength and control of your abilities. Or you could destroy it. You cannot do it now, but it will come in time. Even now, you disrupt its ancient task. Do you see why I wanted to conceal that from you?”

Lydia took one deep breath. Then another. Then another. “Not that I know, I’m responsible.”

“Exactly. That responsibility is almost too great for a person three times your age. You haven’t even graduated high school.” 

“I’m not helpless!” she snapped, more out of anxiety than irritation.

“No, you’re not. I think you’re a genius. I think you’re quite brilliant.” Deaton looked sad. “But you shouldn’t have to make decisions like this. Not yet.”

She turned away in the nearly darkened laboratory. She took a deep breath. “I remember something … like a dream.”

“Oh? What do you remember?”

“There was a boy who was Bit by a werewolf against his will. He shouldn’t have had to deal with any of the things he had to deal with, but he did so because it was the right thing to do. So others wouldn’t get hurt. He became a True Alpha, even though he didn’t want to be, because he needed to be. I remember that his actions inspired me so much that I chose not to run away from my powers. I embraced them, because I, too, would do the right thing. I am not weaker than he was. I am not weaker than _anyone._ ”

Deaton was watching her when she turned around, and she fixed him with as hard a stare as she could muster.

“Make sure that machine works, doctor.” She announced. “Because I am not afraid. I’m going to go into the Ghost Rider’s dimension, and I’m going to save Stiles Stilinski.”

**~*~**

The party at the Whittemore house rocked hard. Josh Diaz, a junior, turned out to be a competent deejay, though he favored druggy EDM rather than the pop songs that most of the teenagers wanted. Still, Jackson enjoyed the music, and since it was his house and his party, no one could say any different.

The living room had been cleared of furniture to make a dance floor, but there was still plenty of other rooms for people to hold conversations. The kitchen boasted two kegs, an array of hard liquor, mixers, cider, and soft drinks for the designated drivers.

“Was this a good idea?” Scott had positioned himself near the doorway between the kitchen and the family room. He had an untouched rum and coke in his hand.

Lydia smiled at him. “Jackson’s parents paid for the party. They helped him move the furniture. If things get wrecked, Mrs. Whittemore will have an excuse to redecorate. She _loves_ to redecorate.”

“That’s not what I meant. Where are the Whittemores?”

“San Francisco. With my mother.” Lydia shrugged. “They go out of town when Jackson throws a party so they can limit their liability, and they enjoy hitting the big city scenes in any event. I asked Jackson to convince them to invite Mom. She’ll be gone through the full moon.”

“Does she know what you’re planning to do?”

“No. And she won’t.” She pointed a threatening finger at him. 

“I’m still not sure this a good idea. What if the Ghost Riders attack?” Scott frowned.

“Could you please say that a little louder, I don’t think the sophomores over there heard you.” Lydia leaned forward to whisper. “They haven’t attacked me at school yet. They didn’t attacked me at the mall this afternoon. I can safely assume they’re not following me all the time. I also think I want to enjoy one night of being a normal teenager before journeying into another dimension. On the other hand, if they do show up, there is an entire pack of werewolves here to protect me. You already know this, so what’s really bothering you, Scott?”

“I’m serious!” 

“Sure you are, but that’s not why you’re anxious. You’re focusing on something important to avoid talking about something you don’t think is that serious. It’s called transference.” She tapped him on the nose. “Spill it.”

Scott chuffed, and his shoulders sagged. “I never know what to do at these things.”

“Ah. The Nerd’s Lament.” Lydia smiled at him broadly and sincerely to broadcast that she was only teasing. “The problem is that people like you come to these things thinking that there is some tactic that will suddenly make you popular or the party enjoyable, when instead there’s a simple answer to you simple question: _do what you want to do._ ”

“I want to go find Isaac.”

“Then go find Isaac.”

“But—”

“No buts. Shoo.” She pushed him towards the door. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac had drawn straws to see who would have to patrol outside all night, and Isaac had lost. 

Watching Scott leave, Lydia nearly jumped out of her shoes when someone put their hands on her shoulders.

“Sorry, babe,” Jackson soothed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t worry,” she lied. “I’m not frightened.”

He leaned into to whisper in her ear. “Are you okay? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”

She turned and flashed him her best Queen Smile. “Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Jackson kept his voice low. “It’s like you’re barely here. Brian’s skank is in the dining room trying to hold court, and you haven’t torn her apart yet. Something wrong?”

“Not at all. I wanted this party. I needed it. Thank you so much for throwing it.”

He wrapped her up in his arms in a reassuring way.

Lydia glanced into his eyes. “I guess I needed something normal.”

“I get it!” Jackson nodded seriously. “Someone breaks into your home, and it throws everything off. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

Natalie, at Lydia’s urging, had told the police that robbers had burst into their home. The Ghost Rider’s body had disappeared from where it lay after Boyd had mauled it. The repairs had already been made, but Lydia had stayed at different homes during the next few days to make sure she didn’t get attacked in her sleep.

She kissed Jackson on the cheek. “You’re so sweet when you’re not being a jerk.”

“Shhhhhh.” He winked. “You’ll ruin my reputation. Speaking of reputation, what’s up with McCall? How is our resident bench sitter?”

“Oh, the usual. He hasn’t mastered parties yet. He will. He’s got talent.”

“You’re being kind as well. I’m worried.” Jackson paused. “I … never mind.”

“No.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him and his pals. They’re around you almost as much as the Martinets.”

She bit her lip. “Are you jealous?”

“No. We don’t do that, remember? Though I _am_ curious.”

Lydia owed him at least part of the truth. “Remember my problems, right after I turned eighteen?”

Jackson nodded once and stroked her cheek. He had been there for her, though he hadn’t known what to say or do.

“I didn’t really deal with them, I powered through it until they went away. I found out that Scott and his friends … have similar problems. Talking to them is helping me come to terms with everything.” Lydia watched as Jackson’s ego, still sizable though far more under control than when he was younger, visibly take a hit. “I’m not blaming you. They’re … easier.”

“I’m always here if you want to talk.” 

She kissed him once again, and this time she meant it. “I know, but not tonight. I’m going to find the girls.”

Tracy, Susan, and Harley were standing in the hallway watching Anna-Catherine trying to put together a clique. Susan and Harley were providing snide running commentary. They had been joined by Erica, who seemed to have been drawn into the Martinets’ sisterhood against her will, werewolf strength or not. 

“What’s happening?” Lydia spoke loudly to get their attention. 

“Did you change your dress?” Erica asked in surprise.

“Of course. The initial phase of the party is over. I don’t need to greet people anymore, so why wear my greeting dress? Now I need to circulate, so this is my mingling dress.” 

“Okay.” 

Susan explained it to her. “If you’re the hostess, you’re expected to change your clothes at least twice.”

Erica was fascinated. “But … why?”

Tracy patted Erica on the shoulder. “I was just as lost when they told me about it, too.”

“The hostess sets the tone of the party,” Harley explained. “Lydia told us what she was going to wear, and we made sure that every girl knew the themes by the end of the day.”

Lydia sighed. “There’s an art to it. This might be the last time I get to do it.”

“You’re not going to throw parties in college?” Erica asked again, still confused.

“Oh, honey,” Lydia placed her hands on her own cheeks in mock shock. “College is a completely different language.”

“Lydia,” Tracy cajoled, “you won’t have time to throw parties at MIT.” 

They all looked at Tracy, and she blushed. 

“We all know you’re brilliant.” Tracy looked around. “Sorry.”

Lydia waved it off, but she hadn’t realized that Tracy had been able to figure it out. Tracy had always been so quiet.

Erica, on the other hand, looked on the verge of a sulk. “I think it’s too late for me to throw a party like that.”

“It’s not too late. You can do anything you want.” Boyd had crossed the dance floor, a morose-looking Theo following him. Derek had ordered that the refugee from another world not be left on his own. If Isaac had to be outside, Boyd had to babysit. 

“Who is that?” Susan asked. Lydia believe she could see the drool.

Lydia made the introductions. “Ladies, this is Theo Raeken. Theo, you’ve met Erica, but these are my friends, Susan Belvedere, Rebecca Harlowe, and Tracy Stewart.” 

“You can call me Harley.” She seemed as seriously impressed as Susan.

But Theo didn’t bother to look at either Susan or Harley. His eyes had locked on Tracy, and Lydia could have sworn that his throat actually spasmed as if he was about to throw up.

“Are you okay?” Tracy asked. 

“I … I … I’m fine.” Theo wiped at his mouth with his arm. “I’m sorry. I think I need to get some air.” 

Theo turned and started walking fast as he could without running for the exit into Jackson’s back yard. Boyd, after a quick apology, hurried after him. 

Lydia watched them go. “That was odd. Erica, we should follow check on Theo and your boyfriend.”

Erica looked reluctant, for she was enjoying being one of the girls for the night. After a moment’s hesitation, she left the three of them and started out with her.

“I swear, this better be important.” 

Lydia glanced at her. “Why?”

“You’re probably used to it, but this is my first real high school party.” The werewolf tossed her hair. “I felt like a celebrity. I felt envied. That’s a good feeling.”

She imagined it was. Lydia was so used to it that it probably made it seem trivial to her.

Theo had indeed made it out to the back yard before hurling into Mrs. Whittemore’s begonias.

Erica snorted. “How much did he drink?”

“He didn’t.” Boyd shook his head. “Can’t you smell it? This has nothing to do with alcohol.”

Isaac and Scott came in through the side gate. Isaac must have picked up on what was going on. He made a face when he smelt the deposit which Theo had left in the flower bed. “Ugh.”

Scott ran and bent down to see if Theo was okay. When Theo turned to see who had put their hand on his back he fell over, narrowly avoiding his own upchuck. In this state, he was terrified. Scott started talking to him, low, trying to get him to calm down and trying to figure out what caused him to freak out like that.

To complicate matters even further, Jackson came out of the house. He must have seen the disruption and was coming out to figure out what was wrong.

“It’s nothing, Jackson. Theo—”

“If it was nothing,” he pointed at the wolf pack, “your new friends wouldn’t be gathered around you. Let me help, or at least explain to me what is happening, since it is happening in my back yard.”

Isaac, the last person you would want to handle diplomacy, stepped forward. “You’re not as much of an asshole used to be, Whittemore, but you need to go back inside. You’re just going to make things worse.”

“Why, thank you, Isaac. You happen to be as big an asshole as you always have been, but I’m not going anywhere. If Lydia’s involved, I’m involved.”

“See.” Isaac turned to the others. “What did I say?”

“Guys.” Lydia began but then she happen to turn around. In the neighbor’s yards, she could see the Ghost Riders. Not one, but over a dozen. “It just got worse.”


	9. Reality Found

Lydia turned quickly, her anxiety growing. More than a dozen Ghost Riders were slowly converging on the Whittemore backyard, forming a cordon. They were drawing the net close. It seemed they were more serious about capturing her this time, because she felt only the slightest urge to scream. She fought it off, for while if she screamed all the werewolves would be able to finally see their enemies, all the humans, including her boyfriend and the hundred plus party-goers, would be able to see the Wild Hunt as well.

Getting more innocents involved would just put them in danger. There was nothing any of them could do to help her, so it wasn’t worth it.

“We need to get to the cars,” Lydia said carefully to the werewolf pack standing around her.

“What?” Jackson narrowed his eyes in the way he often did when something confused him. “Why?”

“Are they here?” Boyd asked. At Lydia’s nod, the wolves in Derek’s pack immediately tensed, ready to fight.

“Is who here?” Her boyfriend demanded.

Lydia did not answer him; she didn’t have a clue about where to start. “We need to move fast and right now.”

Reaching down with a hand, Scott offed to help the omega get to his feet. “Theo, get up.”

As he rose, Theo looked pale and shaky. “I don’t sense them at all.”

“Only Lydia can,” Body informed him, “unless she screams.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jackson demanded once again as they began to move toward the house. “What are you talking about? Lydia?”

“Jackson, there is a lot I have to explain but I simply don’t have time right now.” She didn’t turn to look at him, but caught Boyd’s eyes instead. “I’m not going to scream, because I think that will trigger a bloodbath. As I said before, as fast as possible, let’s get to the cars.”

Isaac reached out, pulling Scott by the shoulder. “So let’s stop standing around and _move._ ” 

Lydia started forward, the betas forming a protective formation around her. Isaac pushed Scott so close to Lydia they were almost touching. Jackson was lost and Theo was anxious, but they hurried after the group. 

They pack headed toward the side yard, unanimously coming to the unspoken decision that they didn’t want to get stalled by curious party-goers inside. They moved along the side of the garage, with Jackson’s confused protests as he followed along going unheeded.

“I don’t like not being able to see them,” Theo snarled. The danger seeming to have shocked him out of whatever emotional turmoil in which he had been.

“We parked just across the street.” Scott pointed to the cars as they reached the corner. 

“Stop!” Lydia cried as she grabbed hold of Erica’s arm as she was about to sprint to her Toyota. “We can’t.”

“What do you see, Lydia?” Boyd demanded. 

A half-dozen ghost riders, pistols drawn, blocked their path to the vehicles. It seemed that the Wild Hunt was tired of this particular method of escape and had acted to prevent it. 

Lydia explained it tersely. “We won’t make the cars without a very public fight.”

Jackson suddenly pulled her back around to the side of the house, away from the front. “Lydia—” The rest drew back with them, knowing it was only a temporary respite. They were trapped. 

“I know it sounds strange, but we have to get away, and I don’t know how to do it. I don’t have time to convince you.”

The werewolves remained on guard, tense for the coming attack; Scott bent over his phone, trying and failing to reach Derek or Deaton.

“Fine.” Jackson’s anger vanished and his shoulders set. She’d seen him react like that right before he pulled the lacrosse team back from the verge of defeat. “I trust you, so now you’re going to have to trust me. Come on.” 

The team captain glared at the pack, daring them to dispute it. Then he turned and opened up the side door into the garage. Lydia glanced at the wolves and then jerked her head towards the garage. Isaac looked like he was going to object but Scott pulled him along with them. 

“What are we doing in here?” 

“Well, Erica, you need to get away from my house, but there are invisible cowboys between you and your vehicles, so what you need is something bigger than they are. More robust.” Jackson flipped on the light. “Luckily, my father went through an over-compensation phase.”

The Toyota Sequoia Platinum was enormous and painted an atrocious solid gold color. 

“Is your father Richie Rich?” Isaac asked, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead. 

Jackson had already got in the driver’s side. “Shut up and get your wheezy boyfriend in the truck.”

They piled in, but Boyd had some concerns. “When he opens the garage door, they’re going to see us, aren’t they?”

Lydia nodded.

“Not a problem.” Jackson started the truck.

“Aren’t there people parked in the driveway?”

“Not. A. Problem.” Jackson repeated. “Hold on.”

Without warning, the SUV roared to life and smashed through the garage door. The only person who wasn’t stunned by this turn of events was Jackson. Outside, there were two cars in the driveway, blocking them in. One of them was Jackson’s Porsche, but it didn’t slow him down at all. He tore through the yard — and what must have been well-designed landscaping — the huge vehicle left large ruts.

Lydia kept her eyes on the ghost riders. They were less stunned than the living people, but their supernatural senses hadn’t prepared them for this. In fact, their dimensional shifting made them a little vulnerable as Jackson accidentally mowed one down when he reached on the street.

“What the fuck did I hit?”

“Keep driving!” Erica screeched. 

They barreled down the road. Lydia climbed over the seats to look at the back window, accidentally stepping on Isaac and Theo. 

“Ouch!”

“Oh, shut up, you’ll heal.”

The Wild Hunt wasn’t going to let them go without a fight. As she looked, the horseman rode after them, until lightning struck the ground at their hooves and they disappeared. 

“Where to, Lyds?” Jackson called.

“The water treatment plant. It’s time to end this.” She turned to the others. “I’m sorry about what comes next, but now that we’re away from the party, you need to be able to defend yourselves.”

All the werewolves put their hands over their ears. 

The scream echoed through the car and the neighborhood, but it also echoed through strangely to her ears. She had not felt an overwhelming urge to scream, but Lydia was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of surety that she had been right that it was time to end this. People would die tonight.

She gasped as her normal sight was replaced by a vision. Theo screamed at her, holding a strange-looking hypodermic filled with a glowing green liquid and standing amidst corpses leaning up against a tree stump. His eyes glittered with malice as he shouted, “Lydia, watch this! You’ve think you’ve lost your mind? Well, watch this!”

The strength of the vision made her collapse. Why would she see that now? What was it trying to tell her?

From his seat, Theo caught her eye as Scott and Erica helped her up. He had mostly recovered from whatever happened to him, but he didn’t have the cocky false front he always kept up. The look on his face was full of regret and misery. 

Jackson kept twisting his head to look at Lydia. “I think I’ve gone deaf.” 

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Erica shouted.

“What is that freak on a horse doing?” 

Everyone turned to see a ghost rider galloping outside the Sequoia’s driver-side window. It pulled its gun and pointed it right at Jackson. 

“Shit!” shouted Boyd. “Everyone down.”

Reacting instinctively, Jackson swerved to the left, slamming into the rider and knocking it and its horse into the street. Its gun discharged, shattering the driver’s side window, mere inches above Jackson’s head. He hit the gas, leaving the assailant behind.

“Your SUV’s going to be wrecked, dude.” Isaac muttered from where he was crouched. Scott punched him in the shoulder.

“My family has excellent insurance. How did they catch up to us?”

“There’s a lot of them,” Erica added helpfully from behind him, picking some large shards of glass from Jackson’s hair. 

“And they can ride the lightning,” Boyd added from the driver’s seat. 

“What the hell does that mean?”

Theo muttered. “They can essentially teleport anywhere within the radius of a storm by transforming their physical forms into electrical impulses.” 

“It’s not storming!” Erica said.

At that, it began to rain, fat drops falling on the windshield and getting those people on the driver’s side wet. 

“Fuck you, God.” Erica crossed her arms. 

“I still can’t raise Deaton or Derek,” Scott muttered looking at his phone. “I’m thinking they’re already at the laboratory.”

“Operating Theater,” Lydia corrected him. She didn’t know how she knew that. “Given that it has a lot of high tech equipment there, we probably won’t be able to reach them if they are there.”

At this time of night, the only people who should be at the water treatment plant were two security guards. Since Theo’s revelation, the pack had monitored them and found that one of them sat in a security hut and ignored the cameras to do crosswords, while the other only one only performed walkthroughs of the administration offices, the parking lot (if it wasn’t raining), the outer perimeter (also if it wasn’t raining), and the central control area. It had been relatively easy to find a way into the tunnels where their entrance had a very slim chance of being discovered.

Deaton’s Prius and Derek’s Camaro were already parked in the empty lot. Lydia had sat in her seat silently, staring ahead, as Boyd gave Jackson directions to it. She wished she could send Jackson away. She didn’t want him around this. In fact, she didn’t want any of them around her, but no one was going to leave her alone to face the Wild Hunt herself.

She’d probably never admit it publicly, but it was good to have friends like this.

Once they arrived at the plant, they piled out of the beat-up SUV. Jackson didn’t even look at the damage but moved to keep up pace with her. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on now?”

“I’m a banshee, Jackson.”

Jackson grabbed her by the arm in shock. “Lydia …”

“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m not crazy.” 

From behind them, Boyd warned, “We have to keep moving.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Jackson frowned, hurt. “I was going to ask why you didn’t tell me.”

Lydia froze in the middle of the street. She had made excuses to herself about how he deserved not to be dragged into her possible insanity or, once she had found out herself, the supernatural. But standing on the street pursued by Ghost Riders, the truth could no longer be avoided. She trusted Jackson when it came to being King and Queen of Campus, but she found she couldn’t trust him with this. She didn’t trust his intellect to comprehend the rules of this new world. She didn’t trust his wits to juggle the consequences of the situations in which they would find themselves. She didn’t trust that Jackson’s devotion to her — no matter his actions tonight — wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his sense of self-preservation in the long run.

And there it was. This is why she possessed a desperate urge to rescue Stiles from the Hunt. In the depths of her heart, she knew she would be able to trust Stiles with all of those things.

Erica shoved her as the rain fell. “Keep effing moving. The Riders aren’t going to wait until you finish your declaration of true love, Princess.”

“I … yeah.” She started towards the entrance of the water treatment plant. They moved closely together as a group, keeping each other safe. Jackson followed close behind her. 

In a sudden cacophony of light and sound, multiple lightning strikes hit the ground around the around them. Dazzled, they hesitated for a moment.

“Six!” Isaac finally shouted. “Three on horseback, three on foot.”

They broke into a run, but this time the riders weren’t seeking to contain. They were done playing. Gunshots echoed through the rain as they ran. Boyd cried out as one hit his arm.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Keep your goddamn feet moving.” Boyd snarled, fully transformed. This made Jackson run a tiny bit faster.

Reaching the tunnels they found they could speed up, since it was drier inside the building. They were soaked to the bone and miserable. With drier footing, they could increase their speed until at last they reached the utility staircase. Jackson hesitated.

“Don’t stop,” Scott shouted, breathing heavily, “We have to go down.” He started descending the stairs first.

“Boyd.” Erica called out, eyes flashing. “You’re still bleeding. You’re not healing.”

“I am.” Her boyfriend didn’t bother to check the wound. “Just slowly. Those aren’t normal bullets.”

“Don’t get hit. Got it.” Isaac followed Scott down. 

On the way down the staircase, their shoes made an awful racked on the metal stairs, and Jackson tried to say something to her. He seemed subdued and his voice was soft, so she didn’t catch it.

“What?”

“What are they?”

It took Lydia a moment to figure out that he meant the betas surrounding them. “Werewolves.”

Erica smirked behind her.

“McCall’s an asthmatic werewolf?”

“Not him!” Lydia smiled at Jackson. “He’s a wizard.”

Down a flight, Scott looked back up at her like she had just shot him with a crossbow. She don’t know why she said it, herself. Perhaps she needed to distract herself from the pursuing undead, the terror of what might happen in the next few minutes, and the uncomfortable revelations about herself she keep seemed to be having at the worst possible time.

“Are we safe now?” Jackson asked as they neared the bottom. 

“I don’t heard them behind us,” Erica pointed out. “But since they’re sinister soul cowboys, let’s just keep going until we make the laboratory. All the big brains say it’s safe.”

Scott opened his mouth to confirm what the werewolf had said, stepping off the bottom step, when a ghost rider snapped its whip and wrapped it around his throat. With a jerk and supernatural strength, the vet assistant flew through the air. 

Isaac lost it. With a roar he charged the rider with no subtlety and very little though, bulldozing into the creature as Scott pulled feebly at the whip.

“Where did they come from?” Erica shouted, eyes glowing gold, fangs and claws dropping. 

Lydia stepped back. She couldn’t fight. “There must be another way down here.”

“Jackson, get Lydia to the laboratory, she knows the way.” Boyd pushed them the other direction. “Tell Derek what’s happening here. Omega, you stick by my side.”

“What?” Theo exclaimed. 

“Do it, or I’ll hobble you right here.” Boyd crowded Theo into the fight.

Lydia took Jackson’s hand and ran down the hallway. She mentally counted the hallways she had to pass until she got to the secret laboratory. The door was wide open. 

“Derek!” She shouted. “Derek!”

Derek and Deaton came out of a back room when she did so. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Your pack’s fighting the Riders! They need you.” Gasping for air, she took a deep breath and forced the words out. “Base of the stairs.”

Derek charged out immediately, eyes blazing red, moving faster than any human possibly could. Lydia almost stopped him, realizing that the alpha might not be able to see the riders. 

“Miss Martin, are you okay?” Deaton came up to her. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. This is Jackson. He’s my boyfriend; he helped us escape. How close are we to being able to go?”

“The full moon isn’t until tomorrow.” Deaton turned as all three of them heard a faint roar. “But I suspect we are out of time.”

“You suspect right. They’ve seem to have lost their patience for the long game.”

“Who the hell are they? Someone tell me now.” Jackson started shouting, trying to control the situation in his fear. He whirled on Deaton. “What the hell are you?”

“I’m a veterinarian.” He smiled blandly, and his joke snapped Jackson out of his panic. “Would you aid me with this?”

“What?” A subdued Jackson replied. 

“This room is shielded from the powers of the Wild Hunt,” Deaton explained carefully. “Being underground they cannot enter by riding the lightning, and their weapons’ special properties will not function here. Yet, theoretically, they could still enter this room if they knew where it was.”

“We don’t want that,” Lydia said, looking toward the device that might enable her to enter the Hunts’ dimension. 

Deaton picked up a bag next to three other identical ones. “This is mountain ash. It will create an effective barrier to the supernatural, preventing their physical entrance to any area protected by it. Would you two help me line the room with it?”

“That’s all?” Jackson nevertheless grabbed a bag. “Wood chips?”

“It also requires will behind it, as all things do.”

Lydia helped as well. “Won’t this block the werewolves as well?”

“It will, but I think they’ll appreciate having a place to fall back to if things go badly. Don’t you?”

Working together, it took them minutes to encircle the whole laboratory. Deaton refrained from closing the circle, which turned out to be a good idea. Theo burst in carrying Scott, whose neck bore an angry red weal, but that wasn’t the problem. He breath sounded like air escaping a balloon, and his lips were beginning to turn blue.

“He can’t breathe!”

Lydia rushed over. “Where’s his inhaler?” 

“It was lost in the fight.” 

Deaton maintained his calm. “I have another one in my bag. It’s in the other room.” He headed toward the side room he and Derek had been exploring when they got there. 

“Jackson, help me carry him,” Theo pleaded, though it was strange because Theo should have been able to carry Scott by himself. Jackson helped anyway bringing his teammate to the doorway between the rooms. Suddenly, Theo tossed the barely breathing Scott through the door and pushed the other human through it as well. Jackson went down hard, and Lydia was stunned.

“What are you doing?”

Theo pulled the heavy door shut and then, grunting with the effort, he bent the valve wheel so that the door could not be opened. “What I have to do.”

“I don’t understand.” But part of her did understand. Her power had tried to warn her. Lydia hoped another member of the pack came back soon. She could hear Jackson or someone pounding on the door. 

“You can’t.” Theo rushed over to the door out into the hallway. He grabbed the bag of mountain ash and closed the circle before closing the door.

“What?” Lydia may have been new to the supernatural world, but Scott and Deaton and even Derek had assured her that he shouldn’t have been able to handle mountain ash, let alone use it. “Werewolves can’t do that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not a werewolf, then,” Theo muttered and walked over to her. Grabbing her by the wrist he dragged her to the portal device. 

“What are you doing? We trusted you!”

“Believe it or not, Lydia, I’m saving lives.” Theo laughed, but there was a hysterical edge to it. “I can’t allow you to do what you’re planning to do. I can’t let you talk to Herne the Hunter.”

Theo studied the portal device. Lydia tried to pull away but she couldn’t. There wasn’t a tool or a weapon close enough for her to strike at him with it. She had to get him to let his guard down.

“Tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Tracy.”

“My friend Tracy? Tracy Stewart?”

“One and the same.”

“What about her.” 

“She’s _alive._ And I’m going to make sure she stays that way.” With a shouted snarl, he smashed part of the device with his foot. He was disabling it.

Lydia couldn’t get away. “So she died in the other reality?” 

“I wish that’s all that happened.” Theo muttered, still studying the device, holding onto her. “This must be why they did it. This has to be it. They put me through that so I would stop you from making a terrible mistake. They must have known.”

“Who?”

“The Skin-Walkers!” Theo shouted. “I always wondered why they didn’t just kill me, but they must have needed me to stop you. They made me see that, they made me regret what I did, and then they protected me from the change, so I could do what has to be done.”

“You’re not making any sense. What has this to do with Tracy?”

“I’m not a werewolf. I’m a chimera. I wasn’t born this way or bit by someone, I was _made._ The people who built all this? I’ve told you they weren’t people you wanted to know, and that’s not an exaggeration. They would take people and experiment on them and they would kill anyone and everyone who got in their way, without hesitation or remorse. They were also my teachers, and I learned that way of doing things and a lot of other things from them, which is how I know that doing this ...” With his foot Theo smashed another part of the portal machine. “… will make this machine totally inoperable.”

Lydia finally wrenched her hand away. 

“Don’t run, or I’ll kill you like I killed Tracy.”

She put her hand over her mouth. 

“The Doctors took her and turned her into a monster who would kill her own father, her psychiatrist, anyone trying to help her — including trying to kill you and your mother. But she was loyal to me. She _cared_ about me. And you want to know what I did? I butchered her for her power right after she kissed me for the first time.” 

“Theo—”

“I saw her at the party, happy and alive, and I knew what I had to do. I had to stop you, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Theo seemed crazed and desperate, but she didn’t think he was lying or mistaken. “But the next part is up to you.”

Lydia took a step back towards one of the tables. “What do you mean?”

“You have to let them go. I overheard Scott telling Isaac that it’s you who is keeping the Hunt from leaving. Once they leave, it’s over. This reality will become the _only_ reality. So you have to let them go.”

“I can’t.” She took another step back. She had seen a heavy tool, some sort of wrench, on the table behind her. She just had to reach it. “I have to save Stiles.”

“Lydia, you don’t want that world back. I don’t want that world back. Here, I’m free of the Doctors and most of the terrible things I did. Here, I didn’t kill Tracy and I didn’t kill Josh. I didn’t shove my hands into Scott’s chest. I didn’t help the Doctors corrupt Kira’s fox spirit. I didn’t drive you catatonic. Here, the Beast didn’t murder dozens people as easily as you’ve been planning the Senior Prom. I want to be in _this_ world. So do you.”

Another step. “It’s not my fault or Stiles’s fault that you were a psycho killer.”

Theo gritted his teeth. “I’m not saying that.”

“But you want to kill him.”

“He doesn’t exist!” Theo roared. “The only person that remembers him is you. You let him go and we all get to live happy lives.”

“Except Stiles.” Her back touched the table. 

“You want to know what happens if you bring that world back? Boyd is dead. Erica is dead. Isaac is gone. Derek is gone. Allison Argent died in Scott’s arms. You’ll have to remember a monster riding your body around like a bumper car after he savaged you on the lacrosse pitch. You’ll remember weeks of abuse and mistreatment in Eichen House. Dozens and dozens and dozens of people who are now alive and living their lives will instead be lying in their graves, if they were lucky enough for their bodies to be found.”

“You’re lying!” She shouted, but she slid one hand behind her back, feeling for the wrench. 

“You’re a banshee, Lydia. You know I’m not.” Theo put his hands together. “I’m begging you. I’m _begging._ Let the Wild Hunt go. Save so many people by just letting Stiles, who won’t even know what happened to him, go.”

“I can’t.” Lydia shook her head. “There has to be a way to get him back without everything else happening.”

Theo closed his eyes and opened them. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I wanted this world to be different for me, to have a chance for me to be different. But I’m gonna do what’s necessary to protect everyone’s second chance.” He flexed his fingers and his claws slid out. His eyes begin to glow yellow. He took a step toward her. “You can’t hold them here if you’re dead.”

Lydia’s fingers found the handle of the tool. She gripped it. 

“Sorry about this, Lydia.” He came forward, but she clocked him right upside the temple.

“Sorry about _that,_ Theo.” She hit him again. And again. He was down on the ground, the side of his head bloody. But she hadn’t killed him. That she would have been able to feel.

**~*~**

They were trapped.

Derek and his betas had made it back to the laboratory in terrible shape. The gun shots and whip lacerations were healing, but only very slowly. Deaton had looked everyone over and told them they should be okay. He had a treatment if things got worse, which he had already used on Scott. They found places to relax and sit out of the way. Deaton and Derek had shouted at each other before the veterinarian had convinced the alpha to rest as well.

Scott was mostly recovered from his asthma attack. He should have been taken to the hospital for oxygen, but it was doubtful they could get out at this point in time. The injury from the whip had somehow made the attack worse, so he was leaning up against the wall in a corner, Isaac by his side.

Theo had been secured to a treatment bed in the other room. When Derek had returned, he had pried open the door where Deaton, Jackson, and Scott had been trapped. They had pieced together what he had done and tied him up.

Lydia had told them some of what Theo had said, but she had kept important information to herself. She finally understood what Deaton had meant when he said that sharing information could cause more problems than it was worth. She had suggested that the stress of being from the other world had finally made Theo snap and that he had broken the portal device in order to prevent her from using it in a fit of paranoia. Which was mostly true.

She hadn’t said anything about what Theo had confessed to doing in the other reality. She certainly hadn’t said anything about what he had revealed about the people here. She didn’t know if he was lying about it or not, but she wasn’t going to tell people who had become her friends that they had died. She wasn’t going to tell them the most awful secret of all.

It was all her responsibility.

From the corner of the eye, she watched as Erica carefully rebandaged Boyd’s wounds for the third time. Lydia had grown to like both of them. She had learned how life had opened up for Erica since she had taken the Bite, freeing her from the prison of her own body. The blond werewolf was now enjoying life. Lydia had learned how the Bite had caused Boyd to open up and become a friend to people, and even more, a leader. The Bite had freed him from loneliness.

According to Theo, they were both dead. 

She tried Allison’s phone number again. Still no signal. They were too far underground, and they wouldn’t be getting out any time soon. A veritable squadron of Ghost Riders lurked in the hallway outside the door. They were stymied, unable to pass the mountain ash while their guns and whips were rendered ineffective by the Doctors’ device.

Lydia wouldn’t be able to talk to Allison before she had to make her decision. She really wanted to, so she typed a long e-mail to her while they waited. She would leave the phone here before she confronted the Hunt.

It was inevitable. Derek’s pack could possibly fight the Ghost Riders to a standstill, but if they tried to again, it was more than like that they would lose someone. Werewolves could struggle with the Ghost Riders, but they couldn’t defeat them. Only she could.

“Isaac.” She stood up and walked over to them. “Could you help Scott into the other room?”

Both of the boys looked up at that. “Why?”

“Because I need to speak to Theo privately and I want Scott with me, but I don’t want to have to make him walk by himself.”

Derek was by her side in an instant. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Lydia was tired and frightened, and that made her sarcastic. “No, it’s something I pulled out of my ass. Yes, I think it’s a good idea. I need to ask him some questions, and I don’t think he’s going to answer if there are werewolves listening in.”

The alpha narrowed his eyes at her. “If Scott’s willing. You will have five minutes.”

Isaac helped Scott into the room. Theo was awake by this point, but he didn’t say anything. Lydia waited until Isaac was out of the room and closed the door. 

“They can still hear us.”

“Probably.” Scott looked pale and weak but he took a packet of mountain ash out of his shirt and threw it in a perfect circle. “Now, they can’t.”

“Handy.”

“Lydia—” Theo began.

“No, you’ve said your piece.” She turned to Scott. “I have a question to ask you.”

“But you told Derek--”

“It’s not my fault Derek didn’t ask to which ‘him’ I was referring. Theo told me a lot of things, and I’m not sure if they’re true or not.”

“They are!” 

“Quiet you, or I’ll hit you with the wrench again.” Lydia glared over her shoulder. “If I bring Stiles back, a lot of people might die.”

Scott nodded. “Okay. Did Stiles kill them?”

Lydia paused and then shook her head. “No. He didn’t.”

“But they still die!” Theo exclaimed.

“Last warning, Theo. But they still might die.”

“That’s a difficult question.” Scott scratched at his head. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I trust you to do the right thing, more than Derek and more than Deaton.”

“That’s true, Scott, you always do the right thing.”

“I’ll let that one pass, Theo.” Lydia went over to the table and picked up the heavy pipe wrench. “It’s the amount of death and the aftermath of it that drew the Wild Hunt here in that other world. Removing Stiles stopped it from happening.”

Scott thought about it. “So, it’s like if a woman drives her daughter to her dance recital, but has a wreck that kills a bunch of people. If her daughter didn’t exist, the wreck wouldn’t have happened.”

Lydia rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. “Yes.”

“That’s terrible.” Scott looked down, coughed, and then looked up. “I only have a glimpse of what Stiles meant to me, but even if he was a stranger, I wouldn’t want to sacrifice his life to save others. If Stiles was my closest friend, I wouldn’t want to have to kill others to save him. I’d try to find another way.”

“What if there is no other way?” Lydia asked.

“Oh, God.” Scott reached out and hugged Lydia. “Don’t talk like that. No one should have to make that decision.”

“But if you had to?”

He was still hugging her. “It’s not math. There’s no formula that will solve the problem. You would have to do what your heart told you was right.”

Lydia squeezed him back. “Okay. Thanks.”

“But you don’t have to make that decision, do you?” Scott let her go. “You’re just speaking theoretically?”

“Yeah.” She smiled and hoped she didn’t look like she was about to cry. “Theoretically.”

They emerged from the back room, and Lydia helped Scott settle down next to Isaac.

Derek was looking at her with his brows come together; Deaton stood behind him, face very neutral.

“Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “How are we going to get out of this?” 

Deaton looked over at the door. “To be honest, unless the Hunt moves on, I do not have any idea. I’ve looked for another exit.”

“Fighting our way out is …” Derek’s hand clenched. “Not going to work.”

“Bear with me,” Lydia said, carefully. “I’m going to try something.” 

She walked toward the open door, where the mass of Ghost Riders waited for her. Since they were undead, they waited, motionless and calm.

“Be careful,” Derek cautioned.

Of them all, it was Boyd who first figured it out. “Lydia, no! Stop her, Derek!”

It was too late. Lydia stepped over the mountain ash line and out into the hallway. The Riders moved away to give her space.

“Take me to the Master of the Wild Hunt,” she commanded. _“Now.”_


	10. Riders of the Storm

Within the horse’s chest, its great heart beat. And to its rhythm, the world bent as the Wild Hunt willed. 

Lydia could feel the thunderous pulse from even though the saddle. It beat much slower than her own, which presently ran jack-rabbit fast. She clung to the horse’s neck as it galloped wildly through the streets. She focused on puzzling out how the beast worked, rather than allowing the constant sensory onslaught to nauseate her. 

During the dead space between the heart’s contractions, the world slowed down until it looked frozen. The rain drops falling from the sky hovered in midair, sparkling like rubies in the redshifted light of streetlights and the high beams of approaching cars. Lydia could have reached out and snatch a rain drop from the sky as easily as she would take something off a shelf. Horse and rider covered great instances in that gap but she could feel the stress of moving against physical laws, like some sort of rapacious gravity.

But when its cardiac muscle contracted, reality reversed itself. The world sped up so fast that it blurred. The rain became solid sheets of water, glowing with the blueshifted ambient radiation of Beacon Hills. Cars zoomed past like comets, and the neon signs pulsed like the lighting in a frenzied rave. 

Subjective time did not change for a rider, even as it relation to the objective time of the rest of the world did. Over the minutes of their trip — not that the word meant anything — she figured out that traveling out of synch with Beacon Hill’s time frame allowed the Ghost Riders to appear out of nowhere, giving no warning and leaving no trace. She struggled to figure out the math as a way to fight off the growing dizziness. Their lightning strikes weren’t how they traveled; they were the means by which the Riders safely bled off the incredible amount of excess energy this form of transportation would generate. 

Lydia felt drained by the ride itself even as she grew excited by the splendor of the phenomenon. If someone had told her six months ago that she would be riding on horseback through the streets of Beacon Hills, surrounded by a group of undead desperadoes with whips and guns, and breaking the laws of physics with reckless abandon, she would have wondered when that person was due to check back in to Eichen House. Yet, here she was, the streets of Beacon Hills pulsing like a rogue star underneath a stallion’s hooves. 

The Riders themselves had been careful with her. They had not threatened her, but they had also made it clear they not going to let her leave them. All in all, it had felt less like an arrest and more like a wary escort. 

It didn’t matter. They were her taking where she wanted to go, which, apparently, was the high school. 

Her escort peeled off, allowing her to ride alone onto the grass of the lacrosse pitch, and began to circle at a respectful distance. When her mount trotted to a stop, she dismounted and gave the horse a pat, even though she suspected that it wasn’t a real animal. She started toward the center of the field, but when she glance over shoulder, it was suddenly gone. 

However, she was not alone; someone sat sprawled over the bleachers. Like the other Ghost Riders, he was dressed as a cowboy, down to boots which were propped up on a bench like a cinematic stereotype. One the other hand, his duster was cleaner, his buckles shinier. At his hip were dual pistols when the other riders only carried a single gun, and his whip had a handle wrapped in scarlet cloth. His hat had been pulled down across to obscure his face.

It was a pose created entirely for her benefit; that much was obvious. Yet, he was showing more personality than any Ghost Rider she had seen before. He had to be the Master.

“Herne the Hunter.”

The rider tipped his hat up like a bad Western. “Yes, ma’am. That’d be me.”

Now Lydia could see his face; he looked like a young man, probably around eighteen. He was pale, with amber eyes and a face sprinkled with moles. His fingers were long and nimble, and his face had the set of someone who was had never been afraid to express himself.

The Master was wearing Stiles’s face. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat.

“I reckon this meetin’ between us has been put off long enough. We’d best get to it.”

“Can you drop the hokey accent? You’re not a cowboy.”

“No, Lydia, I’m not a cowboy.” His mien changed to something less fake and more like the young man whom she missed and had remembered more and more about. “We respond to our environment, choosing to take the shape of cultural archetypes peculiar to a particular geographical region. That way, we’re familiar, but still impressive. And — cowboys are fuckin’ cool.”

“You’re not Stiles, either.”

“Again, I’m not, but I know everything he knew and felt and dreamed. As the Master of the Hunt, it is one of my privileges.” He strode up to her, so intense that she took a step back. “I have rode the storm for thousands of years. It’s always refreshing to experience an emotion as powerful as what he feels for you.”

Lydia gritted her teeth. “Why?”

“You know why we do this. To guard the Veil. To maintain the Balance.”

“I mean why take _his_ face?”

“The Gift of the Morrigan tells us where we must be, when we must be, what we must stop, and who we must hunt to see our work done, but every new situation is individually complex, as you would no doubt comprehend if you put your fantastic mind to it. One of us, at least, must be able to do the hard work of embracing nuance. That is my duty, and to do it well, I need to understand every dimension of every scenario. In this case, assuming the guise and history of Stiles Stilinski gives me insight I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

Lydia swallowed. It made sense, though she didn’t like what it implied. The Hunt would no doubt sometimes encounter banshees like her and Lenore. They might encounter powerful villains like the Dread Doctors, whose knowledge and skills could threaten to disrupt their task. In the wide world, there were other forces of nature that operated on the Hunt’s level, such as the Skin-Walkers. The Wild Hunt was powerful, but they obviously weren’t omnipotent. 

“Sometimes, it means I have to talk to people. Like you.”

“Because I haven’t let you go. I wouldn’t have even known you were here if you hadn’t revealed yourself to me …” At this very location. That wasn’t a coincidence. 

“You were holding us here without being aware of it, and there wasn’t much I could do about it as long as you weren’t _consciously_ aware of it. However, if I brought your feelings about Stiles to the surface, then we could talk — like we are now — and I would convince you — as I am about to — to _let us go._ ”

“You want to talk me into losing any chance to get Stiles back.”

Herne nodded with an easy smile so familiar that it made her heart ache. “Pretty much.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“We didn’t come here to be mean, Lydia. We came here to perform our ancient task.” The man sounded so convincingly regretful. “I could list all the ways the original reality was inexorably leading toward the veil between humanity and the supernatural being torn asunder. Removing Stiles from the equation will prevent that from ever happening.”

“It couldn’t have been Stiles’s fault. He’s not even supernatural.”

Herne reached out to her, but she stepped away. “I never said it was his fault, but the Hunt does not care about guilt or intent. It fulfills the reason for which it was created.”

Lydia tried to marshal arguments. “Why didn’t you take Scott then? He is — was the werewolf.”

“Many reasons. Stiles is more curious than Scott. Stiles is cleverer than Scott. Stiles is more impulsive than Scott. Scott’s mentor would teach him the need for secrecy and respect for the balance. Stiles would be more likely to discover the supernatural given other events even if Scott did not exist. All of that led us to believe he was the more appropriate prey.” Herne began to circle her, explaining his actions. “When we act, we act decisively. Though I have to ask — would that matter to you at all? Would you be willing to trade Scott’s existence for Stiles’s?”

“I don’t want to trade for either of them. Stiles deserves to have his life back.”

Herne tilted Stiles’s head to the side in an unsettling gesture. “Lydia Martin, look me in the eyes and tell me that he deserves to live more than Erica Reyes or Vernon Boyd or Allison Argent or Tracy Stewart or any of the dozens of people who will not if he returns to existence.”

She felt something blaze in her heart. “So you do have the ability to bring him back.”

“I do. You could possibly persuade me, if you were willing to sacrifice the lives of so many people, and risk the future of the supernatural world.”

“If you can put him back and manipulate the past, then you can craft a past where Stiles lives and so does everyone else and there is no danger of exposure. There has to be a set of decisions which allow that reality to come to pass.”

“Lydia, the act of choice moves the universe. Reality’s path is composed of one choice after another, but they aren’t like a box of tinker toys that you can assemble in any different way you wish. One choice leads to another, the results of each creating the necessity of the next.” Herne smirked. “Like the roots of a tree.”

She gritted her teeth. “You seem to have little problem choosing this prey.”

“Unlike you, Lydia, I have a simple goal. I won’t allow the pain of others to deter me from it.”

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still angry and dark. Lydia was cold and frustrated, and then she remembered Lenore’s warning. She was letting Herne manipulate her. First he put her at easy with charm and sympathy, and then he explained how there was simply nothing he could do. He was dictating the terms of the negotiation.

“I think, Herne, if you want to leave, you will need to accommodate me. I’m a banshee; I think I can select a path that will preserve everything we want to preserve, if you work with me.”

“You can. You will not wish to.”

“And why would I not?”

“Do you know what is unique about the Ghost Rider’s dimension?”

Lydia shook her head.

“Time exists there, but there is no relationship between events there and events here. You can’t say that time flows faster or slower or in opposite directions. It simply does not correlate.”

She squinted and then nodded. “That’s how you’re able to change things in the past. You can enter and exit at any point in the time stream you choose.” Lydia boggled at the implication. “Theoretically, you could reshape the world into anything you wanted.”

“We could, but that’s why the druids chose the dead to ride the storm. The dead have nothing but the purpose for which they were created. We fear nothing. We hate nothing. We love nothing. Only by borrowing Stiles’s essence can I manage to appear as if I do. We do not age, so it is not a problem for us to take all the time we need to choose the victim of the Hunt.”

Lydia takes in a breath. “Again, this does not explain why you can’t do what I ask.”

“I could. I will not.”

“Then I will not let you go.”

“We have a stalemate, so I will propose a compromise.” Herne looked sad, but Lydia recognized by now it was an act. “You come with us. You craft this future for Beacon Hills. Of course, you will have to analyze and study every decision made from the moment Scott McCall got bitten in the woods to the moment we arrived in Beacon Hills. Once you have done that, the Hunt will make your new path happen.”

Lydia felt a dread in her bones, and Lenore’s fierce whisper to remember that the Master didn’t care echoed in her ears. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch? You must understand the sheer complexity of the task you will have to complete. You will have to expand control of your powers in order to have the necessary sensitivity, and after that, you will need to micromanage thirty-thousand lives down to even their trivial decisions for the last two years.” He chuckled. “How long do you think that will take?”

She felt her heart clench.

“We will craft this world as you desire: peace and happiness for everyone you care about. But, by necessity, you will join the Wild Hunt. You will ride the storm forever. That’s the price.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Of course it is. You want Stiles back? We want to make sure the Veil is preserved. I could take someone else, someone you do not know. But to save those others, you must give up _everything._ It is as fair as this universe gets, since you’re proposing to reshape the lives of everyone in Beacon Hills to suit your own need and to negate thousands of decisions they have already made. Not even God does that.”

“I … I …” She looked into his eyes. He was not going to bend. This entity was fully prepared to do what was necessary, without remorse or mercy. “I need to think about this.”

“Of course.” He smirked cruelly. “You have all the time in the world.”

Lydia took a few steps back and away from him. She had to turn away. She couldn’t think clearly with Stiles’s face staring back at her, which was probably the point of his act. 

She could choose to save Stiles, she could choose not save Stiles, or she could choose to save Stiles and all of them, but lose herself. In a situation governed by choice, she felt torn apart.

Stiles would come for her, no matter what. Lydia had no doubt about that. He would risk his life for the people he care about without thinking twice. It was something that she admired about him.

But she wasn’t Stiles.

Scott would step into the Hunt even if there was little chance he would never be seen again, if he were presented with this same choice. He would believe that he could fix things and then find a way out and back to his life. Foolish or brave a combination of the two, he would risk himself for the slightest chance of success.

But she wasn’t Scott.

She thought about Boyd and his wisdom and strength. About Erica and her zest for life. About Allison and the first true friendship she had ever felt. About Tracy’s shy companionship. She thought about Theo’s desperation not to make the same mistakes again. She suddenly remembered Aiden, a young man who changed his entire life for her.

But she didn’t want to disappear forever. Was that so selfish?

Deaton had been right. She had demanded to know everything, and now she did. She regretted it.

Herne whispered in her ear, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Now you know why they created us, rather than take care of it themselves.”

Lydia stumbled back and almost fell to the ground. 

“They were …” She was about to say cowards, but that hit too close to home. What was she?

“They were burdened by knowing what they wanted to protect and by knowing the cost for protecting it. Just like you.” His voice was soft.

“Stop.” She shook her wet hair. “You’re trying to fool me into thinking you care about me. You don’t. You just want to move on.”

He reached out to touch her hair. “What do you want? What do you really want?”

Lydia made her decision.

**~*~**

Lightning cracked across the sky. Thunder rolled down from the cliffs above Beacon Hills and rattled in her ears. Lydia was tired. She was cold. But she had some place to be. She had some place she _needed_ to be.

She walked up to the front steps and rang the bell.

There were sounds coming from inside the house, but she could barely hear them over the storm. Lydia heard no other sound, no whisper from beyond, and for that, she was very thankful. 

She rang the bell again.

“Hold your horses!” There it was: his voice. She smiled wide because she couldn’t help it. The door opened up and a warm square of light caught her. 

Stiles peered at her as if she was wearing a lampshade on her head, looking befuddled and about to respond with a wither sarcasm. Then his eyes took in her state, his face softened, and the reflexive humor was replaced by concern.

“Oh, my God! Lydia!” He exclaimed. “What happened?”

She was suddenly aware of her teeth chattering. “I walked here.”

“On foot?” His eyes bulged. “From your house?”

“From the school.” She should be irritated, but she was just so happy. “And on foot is usually how you walk. May I come in?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes!” Stiles guided her inside. “You come in. You want something to drink? Tea? A blanket?”

“A towel would be a good start.”

Stiles hadn’t been alone in the living room. Scott was there, along with Mason, Liam, and Hayden. They must have been watching a movie. Scott got up immediately from his chair.

“Lydia. Are you okay? What happened?”

He was a werewolf again. Of course he was, she chided herself. Sometimes, a girl gets what she paid for.

Stiles left, sprinting up the stairs in an uncoordinated scramble to get herself a towel. They younger members of the pack got up more slowly, sensing both their alpha’s concern and noticing her sodden appearance. Liam and Hayden weren’t subtle enough yet; they were obviously sniffing her.

“Come on, Lydia,” Scott cajoled. “Is there something wrong?”

Mason was wide eyed. “Did you enter one of your fugue states?”

“No.” She gave them a little grin. “Nothing’s wrong. Not anymore. What are you guys doing?”

“Watching _Jumper,_ ” Liam announced. “You could have called us to pick you up, if you were like, having car trouble.”

All four of them agreed. 

“Thanks. That’s not …” Lydia was interrupted by an exclamation from Stiles as he came down the stairs with way too many towels. He tripped because of the bulk, and the half-dozen bath sheets cascaded down to land in a heap. She couldn’t help it but smile, and then went to pick one of them up. “Thank you, Stiles.”

Shyly, he started gathering the rest. “I didn’t know how many you would need.”

“I’m pretty wet, so I might need all of them.”

Liam mimed sticking a finger down his throat, Mason giggled, and Hayden rolled her eyes.

“Like you two are any better,” Scott chided. “Let’s go watch the movie and leave them alone.”

It was a nice gesture, but a little futile. There wasn’t a lot of space between the front door and the living room where they were gathered around the television. Still, it was the thought that counted. Stiles stood next to her while she dried her hair into a tangled mess, waiting patiently if a little uselessly. 

“You’re still wet.”

“Towels are better than nothing, but they really aren’t going to cut it.”

“You could … you could change clothes. I’m sure I have some sweats upstairs you could wear.” He beamed at her. “I could go get them for you.”

“I think I should go to your room and change into them, rather than do it in the foyer.” 

He grinned at her, teasing. “Maybe.”

“Instead, I think you’ll stay down here and I’ll take Hayden with me, if she doesn’t mind coming.”

Stiles blushed. “Sure. No problem. No probleem-o.” 

Hayden got back up. “Okay.” 

The girls went upstairs and into Stiles’s room. It was in a messy with the crime board pushed to the side at an odd angle, an unmade bed, and a pile of what turned out to be clean clothes on the floor, unfolded and deposited with no ceremony. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Hayden asked. 

“I like you. You’re clever.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” Hayden dug through the pile of clothes. “You didn’t need me to help you change, so it’s girl talk. Here you go.” 

Lydia caught the sweat pants that flew through the air. They were followed by Stiles’s lacrosse jersey. It had nothing but good memories attached to it for Lydia, so she gripped it to her chest before she started to change out of her wet things.

“It’s not really girl talk. It’s … _you_ talk.”

“Huh?” Scott’s second bitten beta turned to look at her. 

“Of all of us, you were the …” Lydia bit her lip. “This going to sound terrible.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“Of our friends here tonight, you were the biggest victim. Scott voluntarily went into the woods in the middle of the night and as a result, he got bit. Stiles willingly participated in a magic ritual and it got him possessed. I was born this way; I would always be a banshee. Liam had a well-meaning if novice alpha to help him through the change. And Mason … got better. You were taken, tortured, and you will never be free of the consequences of it.”

“Well, if you put it that way …” Hayden wrinkled her nose. “What are you driving at?”

“If you could erase what was done to you by the Doctors, by Theo, by Scott — would you take that opportunity?”

The werewolf sat down on Stiles’s bed. “Of course, I would! Are you serious? Though I’d ask what the cost is.”

Lydia pulled the jersey over her head. “Instead of saving yourself you could save others.”

“Oh, is there a reason you’re asking me such a bullshit question?” Hayden sounded angry.

“Bullshit?”

“There’s no scaling to victimhood, and it’s shitty to think in terms of whose life is worth more.” Hayden’s eyes flashed. “You know my parents died, right? Car crash. It’s why Valerie had to raise me.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it often. The road was wet and the car slid off into the woods. It was an accident. My father was driving at the speed limit; there were no other cars on the road. I used to want to believe that they were hit by some drunk driver or some killer cut their brake line, so their deaths wouldn’t be pointless, but that was something for me, not for them. How they died didn’t make them any less dead, and it didn’t make it hurt any less for me, and it certainly didn’t prevent it.”

Lydia nodded, numbly.

“I don’t have more right to be saved than Mason does, simply because he had an easier time of it, however the heck you want to measure _easy._ ” Hayden got up and went to the bathroom. “I’m going to get a brush for your hair.”

She sat waiting on the bed, warm and safe. She couldn’t stop seeing the faces though. When Hayden came back, the werewolf carefully brushed out her hair, and by the end, she looked much better and felt much more comfortable. 

The movie was halfway over by the time they came down. Hayden went to snuggle with Liam who quickly and annoying got her up to speed on what she missed with Mason hushing him every forty-five seconds. Stiles pushed Scott to the floor to give Lydia a place to sit on the couch. 

She folded into his side. 

“You better?” he whispered to her.

“Yes.” It was the truth after all, even though it tasted bitter on her tongue. 

Stiles had learned her tells, however. He shifted in her seat to look at her. He gazed at her like he had always done, as if she were his goddess of unattainable perfection, yet now she could see the empathy and insight behind the adoration. He knew her in a way that no one else on the planet did. 

It had been worth it. 

He wanted to ask her about what he saw, but they were in a room with three werewolves so even the softest whisper would be overheard, and he didn’t want to expose her.

She would never tell him what had occurred, even as the details of the Wild Hunt began to fade from her mind. She wasn’t sure if she would forget all of it or simply most of it. But the secret was hers, and it would remain hers.

“I love you,” she said and watched his face blossom in wonder.

“What … what brought that on?”

“It is at this point, Stiles, that you’re supposed to kiss me, not ask me stupid questions.”

So he did.

**~*~**

She had not come here often enough. Death had become so much a part of her life that she avoided its trappings when she didn’t have to. She had seen more dead bodies, more lives snuffed out by violence, by hatred, by revenge, than she had ever imagined she would in her darkest nightmares. She shouldn’t feel bad for doing her best not to be reminded of it.

But she did, and in her heart, she admitted that she probably always would. No matter what the path of her own life, she stilled owed something to the people who crossed it, no matter how briefly. It was only right.

Lydia laid the roses on Allison’s grave.

Allison had a carved tombstone and not a mausoleum, though her family could have easily afforded it. It was tasteful, white marble, inlaid with silver. It gave Lydia a sense of melancholy to see Allison’s new family motto engraved on it below the dates of her best friend’s life.

“I’m not as strong as you,” Lydia said and then brushed a tear away from her eyes.

“She wouldn’t expect you to be,” Scott broke into her reverie. He had snuck up on her, but she didn’t startle.

“One would think,” she said crossly, “that since I left Stiles in the car, I would want to be alone.”

“Well, I’m told I’m pretty oblivious.” 

A warm wind blew over the cemetery. The day was overcast, appropriately so, but the rain had come and gone earlier that morning. Tomorrow, probably, the sun would break through the clouds and spring would shine its warm light over the last few weeks of spring.

Scott cleared his throat.

“Why won’t you leave me be?”

“Because something is bothering you. I can tell. We can all tell. I’m not going to force you to tell me what it is, but I’d like to help, if I could.”

Lydia looked down at her nails. “Why don’t you order me to tell you?”

“You know I don’t do that. Even if you wanted me to, I wouldn’t do it.”

She knew that already. “Then trust me when I say I’m not going to tell you what it is. The trouble is mine to know and mine to bear. You can help me do one thing however.”

“What is it?”

“Where are Boyd and Erica buried?” She looked at him. “They’re … I couldn’t find them.”

Scott nodded as if he understood. “Derek had them buried in the Hale Family Cemetery.”

“The Hales have their own cemetery?”

“They helped found Beacon Hills; that brings with it certain privileges. There’s a private cemetery on what used to be their land, which a trust maintains in perpetuity. Derek paid for the funerals and convinced their families to let them be buried there. I can take you. Do you want to go now?”

“Yes. Did you drive here?”

“I had Liam drop me off. I can ride with you and Stiles.”

Lydia smirked. “And should I wonder out loud how you knew I was here in the first place?”

Scott shrugged. “A little birdie texted me.”

They walked through the manicured lawns to the car, where Stiles was waiting, impatiently. He searched her face to see how she was faring. He didn’t ask, which was probably safe. She slugged him in the arm anyway.

“What was that for?” 

“Being a little birdie.”

Stiles looked at Scott, who shrugged helplessly. They loaded into the Jeep and Scott told Stiles where they were going. Wordlessly, Stiles got out on the road.

Scott, sitting in the back seat, looked out the window. “Three weeks.”

“I know,” Stiles moaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Three weeks?” Lydia asked. She was thinking about other times and places.

“School’s done. We’ll have graduated. It’ll be time to start getting ready for college. Unless something bad happens, I think I have a chance.” Scott chuckled uncomfortably. 

“Don’t jinx yourself, dude!”

“It’s going to be a big step, you two. Are you going to be able to bear the separation?”

Stiles winked at her. “Just because we know you’ve been ready to go to MIT since junior year, you don’t have to rub it in.”

“It’s not …”

“Yes, you’re in.” Stiles turned back to the road. “Don’t front.”

Scott nodded when she turned back to look at him. “We’ve always known you delayed your graduation to stay with us. Thank you.”

Lydia smiled and tossed her hair. “You did more for me than I did for you.”

“Are we done?” Stiles mock complained. “We like each other. We’re friends. Get over it already!”

They laughed together as the Jeep drove down the road to look for dead bodies in the Preserve.

**~*~**

“I don’t know, Abe.”

The older man scratched as this beard. “Violence is never the answer. I’ve been your friend for years. Don’t take matters into your own hands. Gather all the information you put together and go to the press. Expose them for what they’ve done.”

“Why do you think I’ll have any more luck with the press than with the cops?” His friend was sad and wistful.

“Trust me, the press wants to get the truth out there. That’s where their power lies. You convinced me. Now convince them.”

She hesitated, turning to the window and watching the storm. Maybe getting the truth out there was the best strategy. A noise made her whirl around. Did she hear hooves?

Shaking her head, she stared at the information she had compiled and spread on her dining room table. Among the files and pictures were guns, knives, and a collection of vials full of wolf’s bane, which she fervently prayed would be effective. Why had she been hesitating? There was no one else in the house to argue with her but her own conscience, and against that, she had already won.

Soon, Tamora Monroe would be ready to hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome all criticism as long as it is focused on the characters, plot, cultural sensitivity, and writing of this story. Please don't bring in my other works or commentary on other platforms into this. I especially appreciate having typos and grammatical mistakes pointed out.


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